


Rain on the Mountain

by miss_walker



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Angst, Edoras, F/M, Fellowship of the Ring, Girls support girls even if they all have the hots for the same man, Lots of Rohirrim goodness, More girls in Middle Earth please, Nothing bad happens to the other female characters, Return of the King, Rohan, Slow Burn, The Two Towers, regular updates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 70
Words: 177,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_walker/pseuds/miss_walker
Summary: How did it come to this?Loyal to her family, her lands and her people, Théadain, the illegitimate daughter of Théoden, King of Rohan, has little concern for the world that lies beyond her familiar grasslands. When all that she loves is threatened, she must risk the position she has fought long and hard to earn, plunging herself into a conflict she never sought. As she learns of the rising darkness in far off corners of her world, she begins to realise that her fate may lead her beyond the familiar, and may entwine with the fates of others in ways she could never have foreseen.'Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountain. Like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the West, behind the hills, into shadow...'
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 176
Kudos: 213





	1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1** _

A gloved hand held slowly aloft commanded silence and stillness as the small company rode beneath the trees. It took only a moment for the sound of creaking leather reins being drawn up to melt into the sounds of the forest, the hoof falls of their mounts muted by the fallen leaves that blanketed the earth. With a quick glance behind, the leader of the party slowly slipped her gloves off and reached behind her back to grasp an arrow from her quiver, delicately fitting it to the bow that hung from her saddle.

A mere fifty paces upwind of the party, illuminated by the light of the mid-morning sun cascading through the trees, a stag grazed peacefully. He was young, but large - powerful muscles rippled beneath his pelt as he rooted in the undergrowth for food, unaware he was being watched. The huntress inhaled softly as she raised her bow, drawing back the taught string in a fluid, silent motion. Behind her, her company seemed to collectively hold their breath as they waited.

Simultaneously, she released both her breath and the arrow, watching it sail to meet its mark. With a startled grunt, the stag spun, dashed a few paces, and fell. Her hand flew up again to stem any premature celebration from the hunting party as she slipped from her saddle, casting a warning glance to the men as she walked forward to meet the stag. At her hip hung a small horn, embellished with carvings and bands of gold, but she rested her hand on the dagger belted above it as she approached the creature.

"Hush now, forgive me, strong one..." She breathed, kneeling at the side of the creature as its flank heaved with the effort of clinging to life. Her arrow had found its mark, but she drew her dagger, having no intention of prolonging the creature's suffering. "There are many who will be grateful for your sacrifice, you will not have died for naught." She whispered tenderly as she placed the point above the stag's heart, laying her free hand between his eyes and rubbing soothingly. With a swift, practiced motion she drove the knife deep, closing her eyes as she felt the beast shudder and still beneath her hands. She took a moment to withdraw her blade, casting her eye over the animal as she wiped the blade on the forest floor and sheathed it, before glancing back at the company of men who watched her. A small smile played on her lips as she lifted her horn to them, looking up to the sky as she blew a single, loud and clear note.

The effect was instantaneous, the peace of the forest shattered as the ten men that followed her roared victoriously, riding into the thicket to meet their captain.

"Well aimed, my lady." Her second in command, Baldan laughed as he drew his dappled mare up beside her, "He is a fine beast, I'm sure he will feed the entire hall without bother."

"I should hope so." She smiled, brushing her long copper hair back as she watched the stag being lifted onto the back of the horse brought for this purpose, looking up as she heard another horn blast answering hers, "As it would seem my brother has conceded defeat."

*

They burst from the trees onto the plains of Rohan at an elated canter, the horses glad to be free of the trees as they made their way West to their encampment. The huntress laughed as she spotted another party emerging in the distance, led by their own young captain and prince, his blond hair blowing out behind him in the breeze as he and his sister rode to greet each other.

"Well met, brother." She smiled teasingly as she drew up her horse, "I hope you don't mean to tell me that you have failed to make a kill this year?"

"I'm afraid I must, Théadain. Just this once." Théodred chuckled as he looked to the company she had outpaced, his eyes landing on the stag, "That is truly a prize, I was beginning to give up on finding any deer at all."

"The forest is near emptied, this side of the river." His half-sister sighed, looking to the expanse of trees that stretched west toward the Misty Mountains, "Fangorn grows darker by the year."

"I had considered crossing the Entwash with my party, we saw so little." Théodred commented as he turned his horse in the direction of the encampment that lay several miles to the South, "A week of hunting before the first kill is unheard of." His eyes wandered to the forest again before turning away to watch their companies meet on the plain and turn towards the camp. The acres of trees to the South of the Entwash river had long been considered safe by their people, the dense forest to the North however had always been deemed too dangerous to venture into. Now perhaps they should consider keeping to their grasslands.

Théadain sighed and lengthened the reins of her bay stallion, Folca, letting him pick his own way after Théodred, "Father should be here to see this. This makes two years he has missed the hunt, I don't believe he would disregard our concerns about the boarders if he could see it for himself."

"We may tell him tonight," The young prince murmured, his expression clouding momentarily as his thoughts lingered on his father, before he tightened his grip on his reins, "Come Théa – the people will be anxious for our return, a week is a long time to wait for a feast." His smile returned as he urged his horse into a canter, his pace quickly matched by the young woman and her stallion.

*

It was half a day's ride to Edoras from the hunting encampment, with the stag sent ahead to be prepared for the traditional feast, Théadain and the young prince helped dismantle the camp before following. As they rode up towards the city, Théa smiled at the feeling of the ground sloping upwards below Folca's hooves, drawing her home.

The lights at the Golden Hall of Meduseld already glowed warmly as the first shadows of twilight began to creep in, signalling that the people of the city were welcome to begin arriving. Indeed, as the company of riders passed through the wooden gateway they were met by streams of people already making their way to the hall.

"The hunt returns!" The cry went up from the gatekeeper's post and Théodred chuckled at the cheers which followed. The people had cause to celebrate, this night was always a wonderful event. Even in his childhood he had appreciated the nights when everyone in the city went to bed with a full stomach, content and happy – in his adult years he also appreciated the free-flowing ale and company of his countrymen. As was tradition, the beginning of the Mark's hunting season was marked by the Royal Hunt, where the king would make the first kill of the year. However, in recent years King Théoden had declined to join them as his health weakened, instead requesting that his two children lead the hunt in his name. Théa had refused at first, insisting that it was only right that the legitimate child of the King lead, but when Théodred suggested that they make it a competition, she relented.

He glanced at his half-sister as they rode slowly through the city, seeing how she greeted the people that reached their hands to her as she passed, squeezing each in turn and exchanging a tender or humorous word. She had a way with them, and in his mind by rights she should be next in line for the throne, save for an unfortunate circumstance of birth.

He shook his head to dispel those thoughts as they rode into the stables and Théadain dismounted, turning her attentions to Folca and carefully removing his saddle and bridle.

"We did well this year," She hummed to the horse, "I would guess our stag is near twice the size of Théodred's last year."

Her brother didn't miss the cheeky smile she cast his way as he tended to Brego in his stall, "You make it sound like I shot down a fawn."

"I do recall that the doe I returned with was needed to stretch the feast, little brother." She smiled playfully as she ran a brush over Folca's flank, her thoughts soon absorbed by the repetitive motion.

*

The evening had begun to draw in as Théadain returned to her quarters to change, slipping in the Western side door to the hall so she would not disturb the crowds already gathered inside. Her eyes longingly landed on the copper bath in the corner of her chambers as she entered, before shaking her head and moving to the jug and basin that stood on her desk. Casting a glance into the mottled looking glass that hung on her wall, she sighed and attempted to run her fingers through her tangled mane of hair in an effort to tame it. She had not been blessed with the flaxen-gold locks of her father - which her brother so proudly sported – but instead the strawberry-blonde hues of her mother. The King had often mentioned this to her in her childhood, his fond smile always tinged with sadness when he spoke of the mother she had never known. Léadain, the stable-master's daughter had caught the eye of her father as a young prince, and they had fallen in love, pledging themselves to one-another in their youth. With her grandfather's blessing, they were to be wed – but not before Théoden had returned from a tour of Gondor, where he had spent much of his boyhood, and as it transpired, not before Léadain was with child.

It was not unheard of, in times of battle or when men were called to duty, that the odd child should be born out of wedlock. All was often made right quickly enough, a swift marriage saving the child from the title of 'bastard' when the father returned was commonplace. And so, it was decided without Théoden – as the prince had ridden off without knowing what he left behind – that upon his return he would become both husband and father. Had he returned even a few days earlier, that intention may have come to pass. As it happened, he returned to Edoras to find his betrothed slipping from childbed to deathbed. A daughter was pressed into his arms as he watched his love fight for her life, too weak to exchange the vows that would have made their child legitimate before she slipped away.

"Enough." Théadain whispered, splashing her face with cold water to chase away the lingering thoughts of her heritage, and the ache of longing for a mother she had never known. She knew she was lucky to have been acknowledged by her father as his own, when so many kings of old had left their bastards scattered to the four winds. She was even luckier to be loved as a daughter by her stepmother, Elfhild, when her father had married. She remembered little, having been only three when they wed, and a year older still when Elfhild suffered the same fate as Théa's mother bringing Théodred into the world.

She cast a disapproving tawny eye over her appearance, scrubbing her fingers over her cheeks as if to smudge away the smattering of freckles that dotted them. Her cousin Éowyn had been the one blessed with the flawless complexion of fresh snow, whilst her brother joked that Théa's more closely resembled snow sprinkled with horse shit. She exhaled a soft laugh through her nose at the memory that had earned her teen brother a black eye, and them both a scolding from father. Turning from the mirror, she stripped of her leather jerkin, shirt and breeches before running a damp cloth over her skin to rid herself of the smell of sweat and horse. Although, one was never quite rid of the smell of horse in Rohan.

A deep green dress was selected from the chest at the foot of her bed, tugged over her head and finished with a burgundy velvet jerkin, embroidered at the collar with the goldwork which symbolised a member of the King's family. Théadain looked up from her fastening of the jerkin at the soft knock at her door.

"Théa? Are you ready?" Éowyn called softly as she entered, smiling fondly at her older cousin as she shook her head and lifted a comb from her desk, "Not quite I see."

"Oh Éowyn no- it needs washed, it'll hurt!" Théadain pleaded, her hands flying to her hair as if to protect it as she was pushed lightly down to sit on her bed. A stern look from Éowyn silenced her as the younger woman sat by her side.

"I will be gentle." She reassured, slowly taking strands of her cousin's copper curls and running the comb through them, working out the snags and tangles. "You know your father will be glad to see you looking your best."

"Father rarely seems glad to see anything these days." Théa murmured, picking idly at a loose thread on her skirts, "I will be surprised if he stays long this evening."

"It will do him good to see us, all of us."

"Éomer has returned from patrol?" She glanced over her shoulder at her cousin in surprise, wincing as the motion caused the comb to tug at her hair. "Two days past, yes." Éowyn smiled as she laid down the comb, rising from the bed, "Come, we had best make for the hall." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoy following Théadain's adventures!
> 
> I originally posted this story on Wattpad under Meg Walker, just in case you get the feeling you've seen this before - yep it's me, don't panic! This is my first time posting on AO3 and I wanted to see how the story did here. (I also have banners/graphics that go with each chapter so if anyone knows how I can add them here, let me know!)
> 
> Please do leave a comment/kudos, I love to hear what you lovely readers think and I promise I'll always reply!
> 
> Meg x


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2** _

  
_"I Théadain, daughter of Léadain present this – the first kill of the season – brought down in the name of Théoden, King."_

_"I thank you, daughter, for doing me this honour." Théadain looked up from where she knelt at the dais in front of her father's throne, meeting his smiling, yet tired eyes. "I accept this offering, and declare the season of our hunt begun – let the feast commence."_

_"Hail Théoden, King!" The call rose up behind her back like a wave, the silence of the hall descending into warm conversation as the people of Edoras began their feast at the great banqueting tables._

_"Hail." Th_ _éa echoed with a smile, rising to her father's side. "You look well tonight, father."_

_"That is what you say to an old man when he looks slightly better than his worst." She grinned at the playful smile on the King's thin lips as she helped him to sit at the table beside his son and heir._

_"Nonsense father, you look twice the man you were when we left for the hunt, I do believe you will lead us in it next year."_

*

"He looked terrible tonight." Théadain murmured as she raised the clay tankard of ale to her lips, perched beside her brother on one of the feasting tables, their feet resting on the bench below as they observed the hall. No sooner had the King cleared a meagre amount from his plate, his advisor Grima had appeared at his side to guide him off to his chambers. "Worse than before we left."

"I saw." Théodred sighed, his eyes fixed on a point on the far wall as he swallowed a mouthful of ale, "An old man wrapped in thick furs in a warm hall. He is wasting away, Théa, before his time and I feel powerless to stop it."

"I only hope that we are not." A deep voice cut through the silence that followed her brother's words, and the siblings looked up to see the tall form of their cousin Éomer join them.

"What do you mean?" Théa asked softly, her eyes searching the serious face of the Second Marshall of Rohan as he pursed his lips.

"I have seen men grow old, but never one so quickly and so before his time – especially one so strong." He sighed, "It's as if... As if he is under some spell, some dark magic."

"Éomer..." Théodred murmured doubtfully, "I know you love him as we do, but I fear it is simply age, and we should not give ourselves false hope. Every child must come to terms with the fact that their parent is not eternal."

"Don't you think I know that?" Éomer spat, a sudden venom in his words as he rose from his seat, his gaze softening as Théadain stood and laid her hands on his forearms.

"You know he meant no hurt, Éomer, we have all felt the loss of a parent, you and Éowyn doubly so." She murmured softly, "None of us want to lose him."

"Forgive me, cousin." Théodred murmured as Théa gently pulled Éomer to return to his seat.

"If you forgive my anger, Théodred. I should take some air – the ale and heat do not help." With a wry smile, Éomer gently shrugged off Théadain's hands and strode off to the doorway of the hall, the crowd parting before his commanding form. She settled back at her brother's side with a sigh, scanning her eyes over the table where the men of her company drank. She smiled fondly and raised her tankard as Baldan caught her eye from where he was overseeing their drinking game before settling her elbows on her knees.

"Won't you join them?" Her brother smiled, "Or are you afraid of repeating your follies of youth?"

"Oh don't remind me." She groaned, cradling her head in her free hand.

"That first feast we were allowed at the ale, what was it you declared yourself? 'Queen of the Bastards' if I recall." He teased, "Dancing along the table tops and kissing lieutenants in dark corners?"

"Enough-" She laughed, smacking his arm playfully, "I learnt my lesson the next morning, vomiting into my mop bucket after father made me scrub the floor of the hall. In any case, I seem to remember you constantly being followed by a crowd of girls before vanishing into the night."

"Isn't it curious how growing up changes you – one minute ale makes you long for a warm body, the next for your own warm bed."

"Very poetic of you." She smirked and nudged her brother's side, "Growing up means your thoughts have to turn to future queens, not just warm bodies in dark corners."

"There is time yet, sister dear – and time enough for your own thoughts to turn to marria-" He was silenced by a hand clamped over his mouth, the pair laughing in their rosy haze of ale.

"You know her resolve." Baldan's chuckle made Théa drop her hand to smile at the towering form of her second in command, "Our Lioness will not be tamed by any man."

"Just so." She grinned, raising her tankard as the group of her men followed him over. They were her most trusted that had ridden with her on the hunt, perhaps a tenth of her full company as Third Marshal of the Rohirrim.

"Not even those who would slay a Balrog for her fair hand?" Folhelm, one of her young lieutenants fell to his knee at her feet and took her hand as Théodred laughed.

" _Especially_ not those that I can knock on their back without effort!" She teased, shoving him away with her foot playfully.

"Surely that's an ideal quality in a husband?" The bawdy comment from another man resulted in a roar of laughter and she shook her head with a smile, embracing the teasing that came with being a shieldmaiden in a world of men. She knew she had their respect, it had been heard earned enough as she had risen through the ranks. Her determination to prove that she was worthy of her place at court, and not just the privileged illegitimate daughter of the King was aided by her father's training. Perhaps if she had been trueborn, he would not have allowed her to train for the life of a warrior, perhaps she would have been schooled in politics, decorum and controlling her passionate temper, prepared to lead the people of Rohan. She knew her brother was better suited to that path, his nobility shone in his every move and he was adored by the people. She smiled over at him as he made conversation with the men, knowing that when the time came, heartbroken as they would all be, she would gladly follow him as their King.

*

The night of the feast was the last night of joy Théadain could recall in the Golden Hall of Meduseld. Six seasons had passed since, and her father had become ever more reclusive and sickly-seeming. The hall was closed up, the shutters pulled on the great windows to bar out the sunlight, and all celebration and feasting put to an end by a decree read out by Grima Wormtongue at the end of the hunting season. Kneeling by his side for hours on end, her cousins and brother – along with Théa – tried to ensure he was never without company. In the darkness of the hall, they watched his skin turn grey and paper-thin, his eyes turn hollow and lifeless as he looked past the four that he had loved equally as his children. When he spoke his voice was like a cart dragged over gravel, but he rarely spoke to anyone other than Grima, despite the insistence of his three Marshals that he must listen to their reports of Orc and Wildmen attacks on their boarders.

It was those border attacks that so often drew Théoden, Éomer and Théadain away from Edoras, regretfully leaving Éowyn to tend to her uncle in their absence. Every time she was left alone, Théa could see the fear in the eyes of the White Lady, more than aware that her footsteps were haunted by the King's advisor.

It was in a fierce rainstorm, riding through the Westfold, that Théadain's _éored_ met Éomer's. Théa was shocked to see that her cousin's company looked just as exhausted and battle-worn as her own.

"Baldan, let the men rest, I must speak with my cousin." She called over the sound of the rain crashing on leather and steel-clad bodies, urging Folca to meet the Second Marshal, the white horsehair plume of his helmet plastered to the metal by rain. "Éomer, you have been fighting?"

"Orcs, near seventy crossing the Isen, we have several wounded, and make for Helm's Deep to rest." He called grimly over the storm, dismounting as she did so they could speak closely, "And you?" His eyes wandered to the streaks of red-brown that stained her gloves darker than the rain.

"Wildmen, they came down from the hills, only twenty – we took no injuries." She reported, "Though they had already slain a number of livestock."

Éomer bared his teeth in a frustrated grimace, "This cannot go on, our people live in fear of these attacks – this makes nine this month."

"That we know of. It takes time for reports to come from the remote settlements." She reminded him, "We make for Edoras, Théodred needs to know before he sets out with his _éored._ "

"The King will do nothing." Her cousin fumed, "Théodred cannot take significant action without your father's support."

"I will speak to him." She sighed, "Though I fear he does not hear me, and Grima disregards every report... Éomer, I fear what you suggested to me last year is true, that this is not the work of old age." She didn't miss the look he cast her from beneath his helmet, "I won't be able to rest until I have answers."

"And who will give you them?"

"I don't know, I thought to go to Saruman-" She held up a hand as she saw him about to speak, his eyes flashing with anger, "But that was before we started to see the orcs bearing the white hand." The symbol had long been associated with the White Wizard, who had once been a close ally to Rohan, she remembered her father taking council with him when she was a child. "I thought perhaps Gandalf the Grey."

"The old wizard with the fireworks?" His sceptical tone cut her deeply, and she clenched her fists at her side.

"Éomer I would run to a hag promising fortunes on a street corner if I thought I would receive answers – I _must_ try."

His eyes softened at her desperate tone, nodding in understanding, "If it is worth anything to you, I have heard tell that Lord Elrond of Rivendell has called for a council – he was seeking ambassadors from all lands which still stand free." He murmured, low enough that the men would not hear, "It could just be tavern gossip, but if it is true..."

"The wizard may be there." She concluded softly, "And Lord Elrond is a skilled healer, he may have some insight... But surely we would have heard? Would word not have been sent to the King?"

"Do you truly believe we would have been told?" Éomer raised an eyebrow beneath his helm, "I don't even know if I would believe that our land is free of evil anymore."

Théadain pursed her lips grimly and nodded, "I will go then, as soon as possible." She resolved, her hand tightening on Folca's bridle, "Promise me you will look after them while I am gone, cousin?" Her eyes pleading as Éomer realised that she did not just speak of her immediate family.

"Rohan will not fall, not while I draw breath." He promised softly, laying his gloved hand on her shoulder, "I pray you find what we seek, cousin." She nodded wordlessly as she looked up at the man who was her senior by only a year, yet had always treated her like a younger sister. Her tongue seemed to stick in her mouth as she tried to summon the words to say goodbye, instead settling for throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his sodden shoulder. They withdrew after a long moment, nodding silently to each other as she mounted Folca and turned to call to Baldan.

"The men can set up camp here, I will ride through the night for Edoras." She informed the older man as he approached, frowning at her words.

"You are leaving, my lady?"

"For a time, yes." She nodded with a sigh, "I go alone, in my stead you must command the men, Baldan. I know you will lead them well."

He shook his head and turned his horse to stand alongside hers, "We ride with you, my lady – even if only to Edoras." He added, having seen her parting embrace with Éomer and sensing her road would not end at the Golden Hall, "You have never once led us astray, we will gladly sacrifice a night of sleep to see you home safely."

She smiled wryly and laid her hand on his shoulder, "Thank you my friend, I don't suppose your wife will mind having you home a night early."

He chuckled and shook his head, riding to call the men as she glanced back at where her cousin sat astride his horse, preparing to lead his men west, before turning to ride in the south-easterly direction of their city, " _Rohirrim!_ " She called to her men over the sound of the storm, seeing them already astride their mounts as she squeezed Folca's flanks, sending him galloping off across the grey plain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm going to try and post up the first few chapters of the story in pretty quick succession so you lovely readers can really get a feel for it! Hope you're enjoying so far and I can't wait to hear what you think!   
> X


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3** _

  
It took all Théadain's will not to shiver as she stood dripping in the middle of the Golden Hall, her helmet tucked under her arm as she relayed the attack reports to her father, flanked by the hunched form of Grima. Somehow the room seemed colder than the storm that still raged in the early morning outside.

"It is as if the trespassers are encouraged, father." She insisted, her eyes darting to where she had seen her brother enter the hall from his chambers, "Orcs have never been so bold as to cross so deeply into our land, not in my memory."

"But you have the memories of a child." Grima dismissed her with a wave of his hand, her eyes landing on his pale, pinched face with a glare, "There will always be times like this, enemies forget our strength and press their luck. Rohan has always endured without these extra patrols that you call for."

"I do not think they forget our strength, they can see that we no longer have any!" She spat fiercely, stepping forward, "You would allow our people to be slaughtered in their beds before you admit that we are under threat!"

"Enough, Théa." The strained words of her father passed through her like a cold breeze as Grima crowded his side, adjusting the enormous fur collar that the King seemed to fade into. She met his eyes, tears welling in her own at the look of defeat she found there.

"Your malcontent distresses your father." Grima purred, casting her a look of distain from beneath a lank strand of hair, "Leave him."

Théa spun on her heel and strode from the hall, brushing past Théodred as she rushed to her room, furiously rubbing at her eyes. She heard him following as she cast her helmet onto her bed and tugged at the fastening of her soaking cloak, growling in frustration as her cold fingers fumbled the catch. A warm pair of hands stilled hers and she looked up to meet her brother's troubled gaze.

"I will do what I can to stretch the patrols further, I cannot call for more men, but if we divide the companies-"

"It would be too much of a risk, you heard how many Éomer faced. If he had ridden with less than his full _éored_ they would have been slaughtered." She whispered, taking the cloak as he lifted it from her shoulders, hanging it to dry over a chair near the fire, "Théoden, is Éowyn near? Can you bring her here? I want to speak with you both freely and I cannot in the hall." She didn't miss the look of confusion he cast her as he nodded, saying nothing as he quietly left the room.

Whilst she waited, she readied the clothing she would need for the road, laying it out on her bed and hunting in the drawer of her desk for a map. She had ridden to Rivendell once before with her father. When she was sixteen he had asked her to accompany him as he made a delivery of twenty young horses, a mark of goodwill to acknowledge the old alliances between elves and men. She could not recall the way herself, having been preoccupied with Folca as a dancing young colt on his first journey.

Théa smoothed her hands over the thick parchment when she found it, her finger tracing the North-South road from Edoras, through the Gap of Rohan and up to where the Rivers Greyflood and Loudwater met. She could follow the Loudwater all the way north to Rivendell, provided the paths were safe. Her decision to go alone was not made lightly, she knew the risk of attack was high, but a lone rider could hide more easily than a group and it was better if fewer people knew of her journey. When once she could have trusted every man under the roof of Meduseld, the hall now crawled with sell-swords and strangers, loyal to Grima and his coin but not to the interests of Rohan.

"You're leaving?" Éowyn's soft voice pulled her from her thoughts, turning to see her brother softly closing the door behind them.

"I must." She nodded, "I have already informed Éomer, I leave for Rivendell in the morning, once Folca has rested and I am ready."

"But why? You are needed here; your men need you!" Théoden insisted, stepping towards her, "What if something should happen to father? Your place is here, with us."

"That is why I must go, brother." She explained softly, rolling the map in her hands before laying it down again, "I need to know what is happening to him, we all suspect that something dark is at work in him, be it a sickness or magic. There are those that may be able to help us."

"The elves?" Éowyn frowned, "Théa the old alliances have not been acknowledged in over a decade..."

"I know, but I must try. I cannot promise that I will bring back a cure, but I will never be able to forgive myself if I don't try." Théadain breathed, looking between her two companions pleadingly, "I know I cannot go with father's blessing, but at least let me leave with yours."

Théodred crossed the room to embrace his older sister, "You have my blessing in all that you do, Théa." He whispered into her hair, reminding her of how they would hold each other when they were small. She drew back a little to cup his cheek.

"I know you will lead our people well." She murmured, "You are strong, stronger than I could ever be." She extended her arm to Éowyn, pulling her into their embrace, "You both are, father will need those who are loyal to Rohan, he will need you."

*

Shortly after the next dawn, Théadain's soft footsteps were heard in the hall as she approached her father's throne, kneeling at the dais in the low light, "Father?" She whispered, laying a hand on his arm to rouse him from one of the shallow dozes he so often slipped into. She thanked the stars that on this rare occasion, Grima had been called away and had left the king to sleep, "Father, can you hear me?"

"Léadain...?" He groaned softly, his eyes focusing as he blinked awake, and her breath caught in her throat as he called her by her mother's name, "Théa..." He corrected himself softly as his clouded eyes struggled to focus on her.

"I'm here father," She breathed, squeezing his arm gently, "I... I am going away, just for a short while. I will return to you as soon as I am able." She promised softly, hoping he was registering her words as he seemed to lose the focus in his gaze and looked beyond her kneeling figure, "I want you to look after yourself, try to take walks, do not spend your days sitting in shadow." Her plea may as well have been made to a stone, for all that it was heard. She sighed sadly and rose, laying a tender kiss on his brow, "I love you, father."

He had already closed his eyes, but as she stepped back she saw the smallest of smiles appear on his lips, "And I you, daughter..." He whispered with great effort, bringing tears to her eyes as she looked down on his aged face. Behind her, the sound of a wooden door creaking open alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone with him.

"Hail, Théoden King." She whispered in parting, squeezing his arm once more as she turned to walk from the hall. She strode past the skulking form of Grima, allowing herself to cast him one venomous glare before she set her gaze forward. Pushing open the great doors, she paused outside in the pale light of the new day, breathing deeply to clear the mist from her eyes. The world was fresh after the storm, and the ground would be soft for her long ride.

"My lady?" The soft word at her side drew her eyes away from the city below and the plains beyond.

"Gamling, Hama." She nodded a greeting to the two red-headed men that stood guard over the door that morning, the first led her father's personal guard, the second had been his door warden for as long as she could recall. Both cared for her father dearly, and she saw the pain it caused them as their duties were lessened, and they were pushed further from his side in favour of lesser men. She had spoken with them both at length the night before, telling them of what she intended to do. "I think it is time I began my ride, it would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day." She clasped both of their shoulders in turn as a gesture of farewell as they murmured their wishes of luck. Drawing another deep lungful of crisp, clean air, she made her way down the stone steps to the stables. She couldn't help but wince a little with each heavy footfall as her thighs ached in protest. A week of hard riding on patrol usually called for a few days of rest, no matter how naturally sitting astride a horse came to her. The thought of the long month of travel ahead almost made her grimace, despite her resolve to continue. That morning she had almost burrowed back into the softness and warmth of her bedding, before the fog of sleep had cleared and she remembered her decision.

Discomfort would come, yes, but the driving need in her gut would push her on. The fate of her father and Rohan took precedence over sleep.

Pausing at the entryway to the stables, a smile tugged at her lips as she saw Théodred already in Folca's stall, securing the saddlebags she had deposited the night before, "This is an honour, not every rider can boast a prince as their squire." She smiled playfully as she approached, folding her arms atop the carved stall door as he turned to look at her.

"I'm glad you appreciate my efforts." He chuckled, though she didn't miss the shadow of regret that passed over his features. Regret that she was leaving? That he was not? Or regret that it had come to this? It could have been a combination of all, but the look passed as swiftly as it had come, and with a final testing tug at Folca's saddle, he led the dark bay out to meet her; "You are certain you don't require an escort? We could even spare you Gamling if you wished." He pressed one last time, reluctant to send his sister out into the world alone.

"You know my reasoning, brother." She soothed, laying a hand on his arm, "And you should be keeping our most loyal close, I fear we may need them."

He nodded grimly, looking up at the soft footfalls that approached over the straw-scattered floor. Éowyn smiled tiredly as she reached Théa's side, her face pale and the skin beneath her eyes dark, as if she had not slept the night before. Théadain was nearly certain she hadn't; they'd lain together on her bed, talking softly into the night like they had done as children, exchanging fears and hopes until one or both had fallen asleep. This time Théa had succumbed first, exhausted after her patrol, but when she had woken, her cousin was nowhere to be seen.

"Here, some home comforts for the road." Éowyn murmured, pressing a carefully wrapped cloth package into her hands. It radiated a tempting heat as Théa raised it to her face to inhale the intoxicating scent of the fresh bread, a soft groan of appreciation escaping her throat.

"Oh I will miss this." She laughed softly, tucking the precious token into her saddle bags. It was always her first request when arriving home from patrol, fresh bread - thick layer of salty butter optional but preferred. There was no luxury like sinking her teeth into the warm softness of her favourite treat after weeks of rations. She moved to embrace Éowyn tightly, burying her face in her blonde locks, "Thank you."

"Be safe." Came the soft reply, not without a hint of a tremor in the younger woman's voice.

"I always am." She reassured soothingly, drawing back to smile comfortingly into her cousin's troubled eyes, "Don't be frightened, Éowyn. There will be brighter days for us ahead, this darkness cannot endure." A small nod answered her words as they released each other, but Théa was soon caught up in her brother's powerful arms, crushing her to his chest as he released his careful composure at the thought of her leaving. He said nothing, and she was honestly grateful. She may have had a comforting word for Éowyn, but she couldn't form a thought that would ease the troubles of the man destined to take the throne. She couldn't lie and promise that everything would be alright. They were not children anymore, she couldn't promise that she could put the world to rights as she once had. She settled for squeezing him back just as tightly, remembering the feel of him in her arms when he had been so much smaller than her, the frightened boy who would crawl into her bed on stormy nights. With a reluctant sigh, she withdrew and cupped his cheek in her gloved hand, "I won't say goodbye."

"No, I don't think I could bear that." He chuckled in spite of his misty eyes, reaching to lift her heavy winter travelling cloak from where it had been draped over the stall door. He fastened the thick, fur lined garment around her shoulders with care, before reaching to hold Folca so she could mount, "I love you, Théa."

She settled in her saddle and swallowed thickly, smiling down at him accusingly, "Do not send me off in tears, what would the people think?" She inhaled deeply to steady herself as he looked up at her, committing his features to memory, "I love you too Théodred - and you Éowyn, I'll tell you so again when I'm back." She gathered up her reins, nodding to them both as they stepped back, and with a soft click of her tongue she was away.

Urging Folca into a trot, she fixed her eyes on the gateway to the city, unable to bring herself to look back on the hall and the stables. Her road lay before her, not behind.

"Lady Théadain!"

Her head snapped to the side at the sound of hoofbeats, a smile breaking across her lips as she watched her ten most trusted men ride to her side, led by Baldan. Whilst she loved and trusted every man in her _éored_ , these chosen few would always stand by her side, whether in hunt, battle or in a drinking contest. She had gathered them to her at the evening meal last night to whisper over tankards of her plans, although she distinctly recalled insisting that she was to go alone.

"This is your week of rest, gentlemen." She scowled playfully, though amusement danced in her eyes.

"Aye my lady, but we decided we would have no rest until we knew you had been safely seen across our boarders." Baldan grinned, urging his horse to match Folca's pace. She had felt the stallion spring to life beneath her at the sight of his own comrades, he always ran better with companions.

"Then I could not wish for finer company." She smiled at them, nodding her thanks as she realised that she did not want to ask them to turn back. A few laughs on the road with her friends would help chase away the melancholy feeling in her chest after parting from her family. She released a breath she hadn't realised she was holding as she passed the arch of the city gates, setting Folca in the direction of the North-South road. Casting a glance to her companions, she loosened her grip on her reins, "Last to catch me shines my saddle for a month!" She called with a laugh, giving Folca an urgent squeeze and grinning as he sprang forward, leaving the good-natured shouts of abuse behind her as they began the gallop north.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 4_ **

  
_'Cold be hand and heart and bone!' The playful hiss accompanied by tickling fingers made the redheaded child squeal and giggle and she rolled around her bed, clutching at the dress of the woman telling her the story, her earlier tantrum forgotten._

_"I won't run away- I won't Elfhild I promise!" She squeaked, her tawny eyes bright with laughter, "Don't let the barrow wights get me!"_

_"I won't, little cub, I won't." The blonde woman cooed, moving to lean against the headboard and gathering the small girl into her arms. She settled the girl against her side, smiling as a small hand joined hers on the swell of her belly, "As long as you don't run away and leave me alone with your little brother or sister."_

_"You would have father." She murmured, her little face contorting into a small pout as she recalled the fight with her father that had prompted her to storm to her room, declaring her intention to run away. It was only Elfhild's promise of ghost stories that had coaxed her from her nest of blankets and juvenile fury._

_"If you ran away, your father would ride the length and breadth of this land to find you – I would not have a hope." Her stepmother smiled warmly, stroking her fingers through the hair of the girl she had come to love as her own, "He loves you dearly, and that's why he won't let you ride horses that are too big for you."_

_A soft huff in response to her words told her that the girl was beginning to relent, and she smiled as she snuggled closer._

_"Where did the barrow wights come from?"_

_"No one knows, my little one, they could have been the spirits of orcs, or evil men, sent to haunt the graves of the D_ _únedain_ _and stop the Men of the West rising again." She hummed, her voice taking on a certain musical lilt when she recounted she stories she was told as a child herself._

_"And did they stop them?" The girl's tiny yawn made her smile, "Did the men come back?"_

_"No my love, not yet, and maybe not ever. Some survive to this day though, they are the Rangers of the North, brave men who watch over Middle Earth, waiting for a king to rise up and lead them again..." She suppressed a yawn herself as the girl laid her head on her stomach, the tiny life inside her answering with a nudge, "One rode in your grandfather's éored, a man named Thorongil..." She caught herself as her eyes began to droop, reaching to draw a blanket around herself and the girl as the door to the bedchamber was lightly pushed open. She smiled as she met the cautious eyes of her husband._

_"Have I been forgiven?" He whispered, looking down at the apparently sleeping form of his wayward daughter._

_"I believe so, she has been placated with ghost stories and has decided against running away."_

_"I'm not asleep yet."_

_The girl heard them both laugh softly at her half-asleep mumble, feeling the bed dip under the weight of her father as he lay down beside them under the blanket, the soothing hand caressing her hair lulling her off into a sleep filled with dreams of ghostly wights and the men who battled them._

*

Théadain stirred from her sleep with a soft groan, rubbing her eyes to dispel the lingering imagery of her dreams. It had been a long time since she had dreamt of Elfhild, Théodred's mother, but her thoughts had turned to her stories last night as she had traced her fingers over the map and her eyes had settled on the Barrow Downs, lying north of her position. For the first time since she was small, she had fallen asleep with her head full of ghosts.

She huffed softly as she rose from where she was nestled between the roots of a mighty oak, wrapped securely in her cloak. A light sprinkling of dew coated the fabric and had smothered the remains of her fire at her feet. In the cool pre-dawn light, her breath misted in front of her face. The nights were beginning to get colder now, though the days were still warm enough that she did not need to don the winter layers she had brought. There had been no sight of an inn for nearly a week, but she did not mind the night spent under the stars, so long as it did not rain.

She stretched her arms and legs in turn, dispelling any stiffness from her cramped sleeping position as she looked around, spotting Folca grazing a little further in to the copse of trees that had sheltered them that night. She rubbed a thoughtful hand over her ribs on her left side, prodding the bruising that she knew would be fading by now, though it was still just a little tender. About two day's ride beyond the Fords of Isen where she had bid farewell to her men, she had been set upon by three goblins, trying their luck.

She remembered well the way her skin had prickled as she had passed beneath the shadow of the mountains, the road weaving between the rocky outcroppings that signalled where the plains began to rise. Beyond the boarders of Rohan, they did not have reports of any attacks, though she knew well enough that the mountains had never been a peaceful place. She also knew better than to linger there as the evening drew in. No goblin would dare crawl out of its hole to attack in the daylight, but in the darkness they were in their element. As the sun began to sink below the peaks of the hills, she had gently drawn Folca to a stop, certain she had heard the high, trilling call of a creature more sinister than a bird. She knew the sound well.

Her eyes had darted across the rocky ridges that surrounded her, providing plenty of opportunities for an attack from above. If she was vastly outnumbered, she would likely only have hope in outrunning them. Movement caught her eye as something dislodged a handful of pebbles and she watched them rattle and tumble down from the grey stone ridges, landing a few metres ahead of her. However many goblins there were – she knew the call couldn't have come from an orc, their voices were too brutish to make such a sound – they were ahead of her now, and she couldn't risk running through them into a trap.

With a steadying breath, she slipped from Folca's saddle, patting his flank as her hand dropped to the hilt of her sword, leaving her bow and quiver hooked to the saddle. Arrows were no good if she could not see her enemy. She had barely noticed her heart beginning to race in her chest as she strode forward towards the pebbles. The trill came again, just above her head, but she did not react, instead kneeling with the pretence of examining the stones. Théa heard the sound of a foot disturbing the scree above her before she heard the snarl, her sword leaving its sheath as she stood in a single fluid motion, slicing across the belly of the goblin that had leapt towards her. Folca's anxious squeal alerted her to the second that had landed just in front of him and she spun, raising her bloodied blade to block the strike from a crude short sword. Her wide eyes met cruel, yellow ones and she swallowed a yell as she pushed it back, not wanting to draw attention to the scuffle and bring any more creatures down from the hills. The goblin hissed and bared its rancid, pointed teeth as she softened her guarded stance, moving to carefully circle it and place herself between Folca and the fight. An injured horse would set her back weeks in her journey. The world seemed to slow, as she always felt it did when she was gripped by the rush of a fight, slow, but then all too fast.

"Come here you rat." She had breathed, adjusting her grip on her hilt as it ran at her, quick but clumsy and predictable. Time swayed again, from sluggish to a frantic rush. With a swift, feline twist she had dodged, grabbing the scrap of disintegrating fabric that it wore over its torso and tugging the thrashing creature back to meet her blade. She grimaced as she felt the goblin shudder and twitch under her hand, her blood singing in her veins as she withdrew her sword and let her lifeless opponent crumple to the ground. With an unsteady sigh, she felt the world slow down again as she worked to calm herself, turning back to Folca. "I thought you were more battle-hardened than that, squealing at the sight of a goblin?" She smiled accusingly at the horse, letting her shoulders drop as she walked towards him – which was probably why she was caught so off-guard when the third barrelled into her. With a pained yelp she crashed to her side on the ground, her sword falling and pain flaring as her awareness fought to spur her muscles back to life. She had relaxed too soon.

A snarl in her ear prompted her to roll, the rough club that the goblin had swung at her head missing her by inches. Breathless and winded, she made to get up but was quickly pinned on her back by the feral creature, its foul breath flooding her senses as she brought up her hands to grab its thin wrists, preventing it from bludgeoning her with the club. Unable to hold back a yell of effort and frustration at her own foolishness, she grappled with it, her opponent frantically trying to bring down the club on her head, Théa desperately trying to disarm it.

With a grunt she drew up her knees and delivered a powerful kick to the goblin's ribs, a satisfying crack and a squeal her reward. In the moment it took for the creature to process its pain, she had flipped them, knocking the club from its hand and her fingers closing around its throat. Urgent, flailing clawed hands tore at her vambraces as she squeezed, knowing her fingers would not be strong enough to choke the creature to death but desperate to subdue it sufficiently to reach her sword. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she dared to look around for the blade, seeing it far out of reach where she had originally fallen. Her only option was the club at the goblin's side.

With a cry she lunged for it, feeling the goblin grab at her cloak as her hand closed over the club and she swung it wildly, aiming for its head.

She missed.

However, the sickening, finite snap that sounded from the goblin's neck as she struck it signalled that she had done well enough. He dropped like a stone, limp and lifeless. Théa rose to her knees, breathless and exhausted, but not about to let her guard drop again.

The road was silent.

With a sigh she stood and snatched up her sword, warily casting her eyes over the surrounding rocks as she wiped it on her saddlecloth and swung herself onto Folca's back. A grimace of discomfort crossed her face at the motion, guessing at worst she may have cracked a rib, but there was no time for examinations as she spurred her mount on, anxious to be away from the mountains as the night drew in.

Two nights later, at a dingy inn she had parted with her coin for the luxury of a sparse room, finally allowing herself to strip off her shirts and admire the yellow-green bruise that decorated her ribs. There was nothing to be done, save for rest, but she had settled for merely spending the next two weeks allowing Folca to walk their road, not daring to risk jostling herself at a faster pace.

The attack had meant she would spend longer on the road than she had intended, and now, nearly healed, she was anxious to make it to Rivendell as soon as she could. It almost didn't hurt at all now to lift the heavy saddle on to Folca's back, and it wasn't long before she sat astride him again, risking a gentle trot as they set off. Today they would leave the road for the first time, as it began to trail away to the west, they would strike out north, aiming to cross the river Swanfleet by nightfall. From there, it was a straight ride to the Hidden Valley. 


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter 5_ **

  
If she had not been there before, Théadain did not think she would ever have found the Hidden Valley. Where the foothills of the Misty Mountains grew more densely forested, all roads seemed to vanish, protecting the Last Homely House where it lay nestled in the narrow gorge. She had known to follow the Bruinen River upstream for as long as she could, but after passing the shallow ford where the river tumbled and whispered over jagged stones she could follow it no further. The gorge rose up ahead of her, grey and imposing as she drew out her map from her saddlebag, a ' _tsk_ ' of frustration passing her lips as she once again reassured herself that she had gone as far as the parchment could guide her. Stowing the map away once more, she dismounted to fill her waterskin in the icy flow of the river, letting Folca drink his fill beside her. It was difficult to subdue the anxious energy bubbling up inside her, trying to shake off the feeling that she was running out of time. It felt to her like the world had been working to prevent her reaching Rivendell, the thought angering her as she remembered that with each passing day, her father would be growing worse.

Splashing her face with the water where she knelt and sighing deeply, she watched the droplets fall from her cheeks and shivering as they ran down her neck. It was enough to reenergise her for now, she had no plans to stop again until she had entered the House of Elrond.

"Time to keep moving." She cooed to Folca, catching his reins and mounting with a stiff grunt, "We can rest soon, just think of those beautiful stables, the sweet hay..." She murmured, turning to look to the thick forest to her right, "And try to think of the path."

Something tugged at the edges of her memory, her father's voice warning her against wandering far from the party as they had urged their mounts into those trees over ten years ago. Perhaps either she or Folca would remember the first foreign path they had trodden together when he was a fresh and newly broken-in colt, and she was still healing from the broken collar bone he had gifted her with when she had begun his training. It was a rite of passage for children of the King, to claim your horse at birth and train it yourself, and she remembered well first laying her eyes on the spindly, lanky foal as he took his wobbly first steps beside his mother. Their bond was worth every bruise and break she had endured in the months it had taken to break him in, and she had never been more glad of her loyal companion than she had on these last few long weeks.

As they rode beneath the trees, the cool autumnal breeze that had blown down the gorge seemed to still, and the sounds of the forest were amplified as they left the clamour of the rushing river behind them. Vibrant birdsong filled Théa's ears as she let her shoulders drop, in spite of the tension she carried. The faintest of memories drew them on as she scanned the forest floor for a path, or even tracks, leaving Folca's reins loose in case he took a notion to guide them in the right direction. Suddenly, she felt him turn purposefully, watching his dark ears prick at something unseen ahead of them, "Go on." She cooed encouragingly, giving him a nudge and allowing him to move forward, his strides suddenly more confident. Even as he paced on, the forest floor beneath them became more even, gradually smoothing into a track, "Good boy." She praised, rubbing his neck hearteningly as the horse picked up his pace, surprising her with his lively trot as she knew he was just as tired as she was.

She could have cried with joy when she saw the path sloping upwards through the trees ahead of her, the road leading up through the gorge almost glowing in the light of the lowering sun. "You wonderful creature." She breathed to her horse as his hoofbeats rang out on the stone track, letting him carefully pick his way up the side of the valley. His surefooted gait led them quickly upwards, and as they turned a corner Théadain released a shuddering breath, her eyes landing on the beautiful collection of rooftops and bridges over waterfalls that blazed golden in the evening sun.

*

It was with a graceless clatter of hooves she arrived through the stone archway, drawing up Folca with a soft command and casting her eyes around the buildings and walkways, searching for someone, anyone who could help her. She dismounted and smoothed her hand over his mane, trying to fight down the sickening anxiety that swept over her. Now that she was here, would she know what to say? Would she be able to find what she sought? Or would it all be a waste?

" _Suilaid –_ ah, welcome, my lady." A soft voice interrupted her thoughts and she turned to face the three, tall male elves that had approached her. Just as she had been before, she was struck by their sheer beauty, in every sense. Their hair, their eyes, their skin, even their softly pointed ears all radiated a polished, classic grace. All three were clothed in flowing, velvet robes in varying hues of blue, the long fabric concealing their legs so that they almost seemed to float over the ground.

"I..." She breathed, swallowing to compose herself. She was a daughter of kings, it would not do to arrive stammering and breathless. It was bad enough that she was certain she looked desperately unwashed and exhausted; "I am Théadain, daughter of Théoden, King of Rohan." She introduced, in a confident tone that surprised even her, bowing as elegantly as she could manage, "I have come to seek counsel with Lord Elrond."

"My lady Théadain-" One of the elves stepped forward, his handsome features warm and familiar, and his large eyes gleaming with recognition, "You have grown since we welcomed you last."

"I... Forgive me, I don't..." She started to apologise, but then looked closer, "I...Lindir?"

"Your memory does not fail you." He nodded with a composed smile, bowing a little, "What brings you to return to our valley after all this time, and alone?"

She swallowed thickly as she looked upon the elf that had assisted her father during their previous stay, knowing she could trust him, "My father is ill, Lindir, his strength is failing before his time, but it is no illness that we have ever seen before. I fear... I fear he is under the control of some dark magic, and if he is, all of Rohan is under threat."

It felt so real when she said it aloud. After over a month of only speaking to her horse or the odd passing traveller, voicing her fears to another being was nearly overwhelming – although her sheer exhaustion likely contributed to that feeling. She watched as the dark-haired elf processed her words, turning to murmur something in his own tongue to his companions. The shorter of the three stepped forward to take Folca's reins, the other gliding away across the stone courtyard as Lindir laid a hand on her arm. She only realised at the touch that she was trembling.

"Come, my lady." He soothed, taking her arm gently and beginning to walk her towards the buildings, "We have a stable for your horse and a room for you. My Lord Elrond is engaged at this time, but perhaps in the morning, he will be able to speak with you."

"I... thank you, my friend." She breathed, following him a little unsteadily, even as a feeling of disappointment washed over her. Of course, she had not expected to be granted an audience with Lord Elrond the very moment she had arrived, but to come so far and have to wait until morning?

Though, as she climbed a flight of steps, guided by the elf, she could allow herself to admit that she was in no state to speak with anyone. Even recounting the reason for her journey had left her near tears, the relief at her long voyage being over leaving her fragile. Her eyes tried to take in their path as she followed Lindir, but she could barely focus on laying one foot in front of the other. A beautifully carved wooden door was opened before her, and she was led into an airy bedchamber by her companion. As her eyes settled on the large, soft looking bed against the far wall, she took an involuntary step forward, only just realising that Lindir had spoken.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear..." She breathed, turning to look at him apologetically as he smiled in understanding.

"I was merely advising you to rest, Lady Théadain. You are weary from your journey."

"I am, thank you, Lindir." She whispered, bowing her head to him as he did the same, stepping back and softly closing the door to leave her alone.

The next morning, she wouldn't be able to recall removing her boots and cloak, stripping herself of the protective leathers she had worn on her journey and casting them carelessly to the floor as she staggered towards the tempting bed. Left in only her shirt and breeches, she collapsed into the forgiving white sheets, and the moment her head sank into the feather pillow, she knew no more.

*

The dawn came, but for the first time in over a month, Théadain did not see it.

Indeed, it was late morning before she stirred from her deep, exhausted sleep, sighing softly as she slowly opened her eyes to take in her surroundings. The room was bright, filled from floor to ceiling with golden sunlight – it was amazing that it hadn't woken her. With a quiet hum she pushed her stiff body into a sitting position, thoughtfully wiping at the corner of her mouth with her sleeve to get rid of the wet trail that indicated just how deeply she had been sleeping.

Someone had been in the room, the clothing she had discarded on the floor was gone – presumably taken to be cleaned – whilst the contents of her saddlebags had been laid out neatly on a carved wooden desk near the door. Rising from the bed with a grunt of effort, she stretched, her bare feet padding across the cool stone floor to explore the open balcony that lay opposite her bed. A low chaise furnished the outdoor space beyond the fluttering gossamer curtains, and she sank down onto it, letting her fingers stroke mindlessly over the mink velvet as she gazed out at the view before her. She could see the whole way down the valley, until the horizon disappeared behind the trees that shielded them. Below her the could pick out the delicate arches, curves and points of rooftops, and down the sides of the valley cascaded the most breathtakingly beautiful waterfalls. She momentarily lost herself as she followed the plummeting water from the high rock walls to where it flowed beneath a series of bridges, briefly calming and remembering what it was to be a river, before it tumbled on out of sight.

However long she sat for taking in the peaceful wonder of Rivendell, she did not know, but she stirred at the sound of her door being opened carefully. She smiled a little shyly at the female elf that carried in a tray, laying it on the desk before bowing her head and retreating. With a sigh, Théadain took the interruption as her sign – she should prepare for her meeting with Lord Elrond.

After she hungrily finished the breakfast she had been brought, hot water was carried to her room so she could bathe. Behind a screen in a corner of the room, a deep wooden bath was filled and scattered with sweet-smelling herbs. Théadain spent longer than she cared to admit submerged in the blissful heat contained in the polished bath, which seemed to have been carved from a single piece of wood. She could have sworn it held the warmth better than her copper one back in Edoras. She took care to comb out her tangled hair, grimacing as she picked out a few errant twigs and leaves and casting them aside. With her pale body rid of all dust and grime from the road, she checked over her healing bruises with a satisfied hum, before reluctantly rising from the cooling water and going to dry herself.

Dressed in a clean pair of dark breeches, a soft green shirt and her burgundy velvet jerkin – the only clothing she had packed that she deemed suitable for an audience with an equivalent to a king – Théa cautiously left her room, feeling desperately out of place as she walked through the elegant halls. She remembered feeling this way before, and it had taken most of her stay to learn the routes through the winding walkways. She remembered a little now, finding her way down to one of the low courtyards and drawing in a deep breath of the fresh, clean morning air.

"I hoped you would remember your way, Théadain." She turned slightly at the soft voice at her side, smiling with relief at the sight of Lord Elrond. She had been afraid he would arrive in an intimidating display of grandeur, flanked by his companions, but she remembered now the gentle, patient nature that had appealed to her before.

"My Lord Elrond." She breathed, bowing with one hand over her heart as a mark of respect, "Forgive me, I didn't know where I should look for you..." She straightened as he touched his hand to her cheek, a feeling of calm washing over her as she took in his kind gaze, framed by his long dark hair and simple circlet that adorned his brow.

"The place where we walked with your father seems appropriate." He reassured her, lowering his hand to rest against his silver velvet robes; "When I heard you had arrived, I knew I would find you here."

She nodded, swallowing thickly as she looked around the leafy courtyard, not having realised at first that this was indeed where she and her father had spent much of their time on their last visit, "I... I don't think I can speak of why I have come here, not in this place." She whispered, "The memories of my father here..."

"They should not be tainted by your reasons for journeying so far." He nodded in understanding, offering his arm to her in a way that struck her as incredibly approachable. In her mind he had been this untouchable, almost scared being, but now she remembered the paternal kindness that she had forgotten as she grew. "Come, I have somewhere we can speak."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6_ **

  
Elrond tented his fingers in front of his face as he watched the young woman sitting across from him in his study, his gaze fixed and intense as he listened to her recount her reasons for seeking his council.

She had changed since he had last laid eyes on the daughter of Rohan, once youthful and naïve she now seemed weary with the burdens she carried. Indeed, as he let her speak freely, allowing her to piece together the patchwork blanket of events that troubled her – not necessarily in order – he began to appreciate the number of those burdens, even if she did not voice them directly.

The fear for her father, her duty-bound loyalty to her land and riders, the desire to support her brother, her conflict at leaving when she felt she was most needed to protect their weakening borders. All that and still beneath, a sense of loneliness and one of ferocity, as if with every breath she felt the need to prove herself.

It had not been difficult to detect the air of loss that followed her as a teen, and even now he felt it, though it had been carefully controlled as she had matured. The loss of a mother she had never known, and that of the figure she had come to love as a mother now mingled with the fear that she would also lose her father.

Whilst it seemed like too much weight to carry for one so young, it was a cruel reality for so many mortals. He remembered years ago, soothing the worries of a young man he cared for as a son, tormented by the loss of his mother and the weight of his fate and lineage.

Elrond's eyes followed Théadain's hand as she ran it through her soft, strawberry-blonde locks, indicating that she could not find any more to say. Her tawny eyes met his and he saw that they were misted with unshed tears, pleading and desperate. He drew in a breath and stood, walking a few paces to look out at the late-afternoon sky, before returning to sit before her, processing all that she had said in the few silent moments.

"From what you have told me, Théadain, I believe your suspicions are correct." He murmured, seeing her eyes widen with a look of surprise – had she not expected to be right? "Your father's sudden failing, the weakness of his body and mind... The symptoms you describe do not bring to mind any mortal illness I know of." Her expression flickered, and he noted the warring emotions that came with his words, a combination of relief and dread. "I cannot be certain without examining him myself, but I would be inclined to agree with you – the causes do not seem natural."

"What do you think it could be?" She breathed, her eyes searching his in the hope he would have an answer.

"My best estimation would be that it is the work of magic, but we do not know the source. It is not commonly seen in Rohan." He explained gently, leaning forward to lay a hand on hers as they knotted anxiously in her lap, "It may come from beyond your boarders, but that would require a powerful practitioner."

"I... Do you think it could be the work of Saruman the White?" She whispered cautiously, fearing suddenly that the elf would be insulted by his question. She knew that wizards and the high elves were often in each other's company. She worried that the hard look his expression set in confirmed her fears, and he rose again from his seat.

"Wait here." He commanded softly, and she nodded as he strode from the room. As the door closed, she sprang up, cursing herself softly at her foolishness in mentioning the wizard. She had insulted Lord Elrond, she was sure of it now. However, he had barely flinched when she had mentioned the Orcs bearing the White Hand attacking their borders. Perhaps he had already suspected something?

She paced frantically between the window and her seat, catching glimpses of the elves moving over walkways below as the day crawled toward early evening. Her stomach worked itself into uneasy twists as she waited, though she was barely certain of what she was waiting for – to be dismissed from Rivendell for her insult? Or perhaps he would return with an answer to her father's plight? She sensed the latter was too much to ask for.

She jumped a little as the door opened some time later, and Elrond re-entered, leading another tall figure.

"Théadain, I believe you have already met Gandalf the Grey?" The elf murmured, reintroducing the two with a gesture between them.

"I... Once, when I was young, you attended one of my father's feasts- you brought fireworks." She tripped over her words as she looked up at the kindly face of the old wizard in surprise. She knew she had mentioned to Éomer that she would consider seeking him out, but the thought had left her head after she had set her mind on travelling to Rivendell. Taking in his faded robes, straggling beard and looming figure, she realised that he had not changed at all, much like the elf that stood beside him.

"I remember well, you have grown, Théadain, daughter of Théoden." He smiled warmly down at her, his voice a soft, reassuring rumble.

"So I am told." She laughed quietly, put at ease by the relaxed stance of the two men.

"Lord Elrond has told me of your reasons for journeying beyond your borders." He murmured, gazing down at the young woman, "And your suspicions regarding Saruman."

"I did not mean any offence." She breathed quickly, her eyes darting between the wizard and the elf desperately, "I only thought- when Lord Elrond mentioned powerful magic-"

"I fear you may have settled on the truth of the matter." The wizard sighed, gathering his robes to sit and gesturing for her to do the same. Without thinking she sank back into her seat, her eyes searching his as she registered the expression of weariness he bore. She guessed her eyes betrayed the same exhaustion. "Recently, I have... Become aware that Saruman is no longer loyal to the free peoples of Middle Earth..." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and Théadain sensed there was more to say, details that were being kept from her. It was not her business to pry into the concerns of wizards and high elves, so she merely nodded in understanding.

"Then... You believe he could be involved?" She whispered, her brow furrowing as she tried to decipher Saruman's reasoning for this attack on her father, "Does he mean to kill my father?"

"No child." Gandalf shook his head, though something regretful in his expression meant his words did not have the reassuring effect they might have, "It is an old trick of his, to enter the mind of another... If all you have reported to Lord Elrond is true, he may be weakening your father to gain control over his mind, and thus control Rohan."

"But what would a wizard want with Rohan? Our people are farmers, we have no great power over the world- I don't understand Gandalf." Her voice rose a little as her mind struggled with what she had been told. How could she not have seen that this was happening? But then, how could she ever have foreseen that a wizard once considered an ally would want control over her father?

"Rohan has more power than you know, Théadain." Elrond murmured, still standing near the doorway as he observed their exchange, "If the worlds of men were to unite once more, there would be few powers that could withstand them."

"Unite against what? Saruman?" She frowned up at him. She knew relations with Gondor had been strained in recent years, much of the relationship between the two lands had begun to break down as her father's illness took hold, and he appeared to grow suspicious of their southern allies.

"There are forces greater and darker than that of Saruman at work in our world, Théadain." Elrond murmured, sharing a glance with the wizard as he contemplated how much to tell her. She had not come to Rivendell to participate in the council that would be held in a matter of weeks; she had mentioned hearing of it, but he knew she intended to return to Rohan as soon as she was able, to care for her father. And yet, he sensed it was important that she was involved. She was a representative of a free land, and a strong figure amongst her people. Her voice could be valuable in deciding the fate of the Ring.

*

_"Am I interrupting you, Théadain?" Her father's voice roused her from where she sat cross-legged on a stone bench in the peaceful courtyard, engrossed in the book on her lap._

_"Not at all, father." She smiled warmly, closing the thick volume and smoothing her hand over the embossed leather cover, "Please, sit."_

_"More stories of battle?" The king mused with a playful smile as he settled beside her, reading the cover. He would have to be blind not to see how his daughter longed for a place in one of the companies of Edoras. She was nearly fully grown now, and whilst a part of him had always hoped that she would not desire that path, he was beginning to see that he could not deny her it. He had hoped that their journey to Rivendell may inspire her to become an ambassador for their land, to travel in safety to strengthen Rohan's alliances with other civilisations, but she was too much like her mother._

_"The War of the Last Alliance." She nodded, tracing her fingers over the lettering._

_"Surely you know the tale of that battle off by heart?" He chuckled, reaching out to sweep her hair back behind her shoulder so he could see his daughter's face._

_"It is a different telling, transcribed and translated by Lord Elrond." She shrugged, a little embarrassed at how desperate she seemed for tales of glory, "Some details are different to the account of men, it's interesting."_

_"I pray we will never see a battle like that again in our time." He murmured, watching her hands tighten on the volume at his words, "Though it is important that we keep the old alliances strong. Have you enjoyed our time here?"_

_"I have father, very much." She nodded, looking around at their beautiful surroundings, sensing he was about to make some point about her potential as an ambassador. Her resistance to the idea had been a bone of contention between them for several months. She understood his desire to drive her away from the path of a warrior, he wanted her to be safe, but she knew in her heart that she could never be satisfied by a role in the Royal Court. Her mother's ancestors had served as Shieldmaidens, and when she rode and trained with a sword in her hand, she felt their blood thrumming in her veins. "Rivendell is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, but you know my heart lies in Rohan." She murmured carefully, casting a wary glance at her father to see if he would read the heartfelt meaning behind her words. She did not want to be sent away to distant lands, to play the role of the elegant daughter of the king, charming lords and strengthening alliances – even seeking an advantageous marriage? She belonged on the plains of Rohan, astride a horse, her hair flying loose and free and her hands dirty from work and effort. She wanted to spend her life serving her King, whether that was her father or her brother in time, and she knew she would do it best as a Rider of Rohan. Her questioning tawny eyes met his cool blue ones, and she was surprised to see the way they softened._

_"I know, my Théa, and I am glad." He smiled softly, "Your love of our land will serve you well when you are a Marshal of Rohan."_

_"A Marshal?" Her eyes widened in shock as he mentioned their highest military rankings, the king himself serving as First Marshal, with the Second and Third serving beneath him. "Father, do you mean...?"_

_"I do." He chuckled, seeing her eye blaze with joy and laughing as she dropped her book to fling her arms around his neck, hugging her petite form tightly to his chest, "Not right away of course, you are young, and you must train."_

_"I will- oh father I will, every day- I will ride and I will spar and I will earn this." She swore earnestly, drawing back to look into his lively eyes, "I do not want to be merely given a title." She insisted softly, "I may be your daughter but I am no princess. I will prove myself worthy of a rank, as worthy as my brother or Éomer."_

_"I know you will." He soothed, cupping her cheek in his large hand as he saw her eyes glittering with joyful tears. Any internal conflict he felt over allowing her to dream of this path vanished as he saw how much this meant to her. "I know you will make me proud, Théadain."_

The daughter of the king drew in a shuddering breath as she cradled her head in her hands, sat upon that same bench, eleven years after one of the happiest moments of her young life. The day her father had granted her his consent to train as one of his riders shone out in her memories, even more vividly here in this place. Rivendell had a curious ability to draw memories to the surface, to make them as real as if she was watching the events unfold before her eyes.

Lord Elrond had dismissed her from his study several hours ago, once again giving her permission to browse his libraries in the hope she may find some more information that could help them decipher her father's condition. Where she had once sat with the king reading of battles and talking of the future, she now sat alone, the stack of books at her side promising accounts of illnesses and healing. However, she had sat so long on the cool marble, the sky had grown too dark and even the glittering lights of the buildings around her were not bright enough to read by. Still she could not move, her mind replaying all that she had learned from Lord Elrond and the wizard, Gandalf, and all that those things now meant – could she have prevented her father's failing? If only she had been able to pinpoint what had started it, perhaps he would be alright now. She suspected his advisor, Grima, had something to do with it, but she knew he was a weak, cowardly man. He would never have been able to cause so much damage himself. Perhaps if she had suspected that Saruman sought to control her father, she could have had him sent somewhere safe. Perhaps here in Rivendell, the wizard's dark magic would have been unable to reach him...

She was drawn from her thoughts as she was suddenly joined by another presence on her bench. She had not heard the soft footfalls of the elf approaching, and she was even more startled as she gazed up into the stunning face she had never expected to see again.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 7_ **

  
"Arwen?" Théa breathed, sitting up and throwing her arms around the beautiful elleth, hugging her friend tightly to her.

"Théadain." The graceful brunette smiled as they embraced, holding the younger woman tightly to her body as she felt the need for comfort radiating from her. They had met during Théa's previous visit and had grown close, despite their difference in age. Neither had ever had a sister to confide in, and they had walked together through the woods for days on end, talking of anything and everything, their hopes and dreams, as well as their conflicts.

"What are you doing here? When I left you spoke of sailing to the Undying Lands to be with your mother?" Théadain breathed as she drew back, admiring the porcelain features of the elven maiden that had not changed even a little in their time apart.

"And I still do mean to." She smiled tenderly, brushing Théa's unruly hair back from her eyes, "But you must remember, the years in my lifetime are not equal to yours... You look well my friend, time has only caused you to grow more beautiful."

Théa released a disbelieving snort at her words, smiling fondly as she sat up, linking her arm through Arwen's delicate one, clothed in a soft, light fabric, "And time has not changed your beauty at all, frustratingly." They laughed softly together in the dark courtyard, until Arwen's eyes fell on the pile of books that lay on the bench.

"My father told me of your reasons for coming here, I am sorry Théadain, your father is a good man."

"Was." Théa corrected with a sad sigh, "He is not the man he once was, and I fear he will have grown worse still, in the time I have been away."

"My father will find a solution." Arwen soothed, squeezing her arm gently as her companion pursed her lips.

"He may not, Arwen. He did not tell me of his reasons for calling a council, but I can see he is preoccupied with it. He may not have the time to seek a cure for one dying man when there are greater issues at hand." She whispered, knowing she may indeed have to face that reality. She shook her head and looked up to the sky above them to clear the tears that threatened to surface, "Let us talk of something else, I have spoken of nothing but dreadful things all day."

"Then tell me of your company, your adventures." Arwen murmured, "Word reached me some time ago of the fierce Third Marshal of Rohan- the beautiful Lady Théadain, who is loved by all her men but will not let her own heart be conquered."

"You are teasing me!" Théa laughed accusingly, her composure recovered as she playfully swatted at her friend, "Those stories are nonsense, fantasies dreamt up to make me seem like some heroic, tragic figure."

"So, you _have_ allowed your heart to be conquered?" Arwen's probing smile caused Théa to roll her eyes theatrically.

"Only by my horse." She joked playfully, "No Arwen, I am not a child anymore, I do not dream of romance and love and marriage. I am wed to my company and Rohan, and that is all it shall be."

"So cynical for one so young." Arwen shook her head with a smile, "Love may yet find you."

"Just as it found you?" Théadain raised her eyebrow, "All I know of romantic love is that it ends. My father and mother, and then Elfhild, and you..." She trailed off, hoping her reminder would not cause her friend pain.

"Love did find me, and yes, it did end." Arwen nodded, looking to her lap, "But it is still a time I treasure, whilst I know I could not have spent my life with him, I am glad I know what it is to be loved."

"Forgive me," She whispered apologetically, "I did not mean to bring up memories that would cause you pain."

"They do not." Arwen reassured her softly, "I have made my peace with it, and I have even met him since."

"Your man?" Théa smiled in surprise, knowing how secretive her friend had been about her romance with a mortal. It had all ended long before the two friends met, but Arwen had always been reluctant to tell the full story, "Surely he must be old now?"

"He is older, yes, and he has changed, but we may still care for one another, as old friends." The elf smiled fondly, squeezing Théadain's arm gently as they lapsed into a comfortable silence, "Have you eaten?" She asked softly, looking down at her friend in sudden concern.

"Not since this morning." She shrugged, smiling as she was pulled up from her seat.

"Come, I know you mortals are delicate." Arwen teased, helping Théadain gather up her books as she led her inside for their evening meal.

*

It was almost a week later, in a candlelit corner of one of the libraries, Théadain once again found herself engrossed in her task of searching every relevant book in the tongue of men that she could find, desperately seeking some cure for Saruman's hold over her father. In the days since her arrival she had begun to gain a greater sense of some larger event taking place in Rivendell. Mentions of a failed attempt to cross their borders by nine riders in black did not escape her notice, but she dared not pry or ask any questions. A party of elves from Mirkwood had arrived in the courtyard a few days previously, and she had heard that their prince travelled with them. Somewhere in Rivendell, an injured traveller awoke, recovering from a fatal wound. Whether these events were connected or not were of no concern to her, she needed to be single-minded in her pursuit of answers. The sooner she found them, the sooner she could return to Rohan.

She sighed and snapped the book she had been reading closed, adding it to the pile of volumes on the desk in front of her that had failed to yield any useful information. With a weary groan she rose, her strained eyes narrowing as she glanced out the window to gauge the time of day and seeing that evening was approaching. Lighting another candle, she cast a critical eye over her collection of books, selecting those she needed to return to the shelves.

Humming softly as she left the soft glow of her candles to venture into the labyrinth of darkened shelves, she began to replace the heavy volumes. Casting her eye over the exposed spines of the books, she ran her fingers over a few, trying to remember if she had already read them or not. Her humming paused as she set her sights on a book shelved high above her, squinting to read the title and check it was not in elvish. It looked hopeful, so she shifted the two heavy books she still carried onto one arm, stretching up with the other. With a soft curse she brushed her fingertips over the soft leather of the spine, wishing she had been blessed with the extra foot of height that her brother had gained over her. Determinedly, she settled one foot on a low shelf and pushed herself up to grasp the book, just as a large hand reached for it ahead of her.

With a startled gasp and a small sound of surprise, her foot slipped, and she fell back to the floor, her sense of balance saving her but not the books she had been holding. She bit back a curse as she knelt to snatch them up, quickly examining the first for damage as the hand that had alarmed her reached for the other.

"Forgive me, I thought I was alone..." She murmured, hoping the elf that had interrupted her wouldn't scold her for being careless with the books.

"No, forgive me, I did not mean to startle you." The soft rumble of the stranger's voice prompted her to glance up from where she knelt, her surprised tawny eyes meeting a pair of concerned grey ones. Théadain could not stop the small 'oh', that passed her lips as she took him in. She had been right, he was a stranger, but certainly no elf. Those eyes were framed by strong, noble features, further accented by the dark hair that brushed his collar and the full stubble that dusted his defined jaw. Théa cleared her throat as she realised she had stared for a moment longer than was polite, and straightened quickly.

"I suppose all is forgiven then." She smiled reassuringly as she mused over just how startled she had been by the man's sudden appearance. It must have been embarrassment at being caught trying to climb the shelves that had flustered her.

The man's lips quirked into a small smile as he stood to his full, imposing height and handed her the book she had dropped, turning the one he had lifted from the shelf in his hands to read the spine.

"Perhaps if you continue to study dark enchantments you will find a way to access books out of reach." He raised an amused eyebrow as he handed it to her, his cool, calloused fingers brushing hers as she flushed with embarrassment.

"I assure you, it is not a practice I am proficient in." She laughed, tucking it under her arm as she reached to slide the other two books into their places on the shelf behind her. She turned to find his captivating gaze still fixed upon her, as if trying to gauge how serious she was. She was used to that look – a lifetime of training and fighting alongside men had warped her humour into something that those unfamiliar with her did not expect from the daughter of a king. "Thank you, for helping me." She nodded to the high shelf and the book in her arms.

"You are welcome, my lady." He nodded, bowing his head to her a little as a formal gesture – as if the immediate familiarity sprung from the nature of their encounter made him uncomfortable. It was safer to retreat to the familiar parameters of formal conduct. At his bow she smiled a little and dipped her head in one of her own, before she turned to make her way back to her desk. Out of sight of the man, she shook her head a little in confusion at his appearance. Perhaps it was because she had only been in the company of elves for so many days, the appearance of one of her own race had startled her.

Away from those piercing grey eyes, she could also admit to herself that _perhaps_ she had found him attractive. He was different, certainly, those dark features so unlike the men of Rohan, who almost all seemed to have blonde or red hair. His short beard too had accented his features well, whereas the men she knew all chose to let theirs grow long or shave it off completely.

She nearly laughed at herself for being so unsettled by an attractive man when she had thought herself so beyond such things. With a scolding smile directed only at herself, she returned to her desk and opened the book he had retrieved for her, beginning to scan the pages. As her thoughts returned to her father, her expression sobered.

It was a few minutes later that she heard footsteps passing her quiet corner. She listened to them pause, trying to focus on the words she was reading and ignore the sense she was being watched. Biting her lip to ground herself, she glanced up and once more met those questioning eyes, raising an eyebrow in a question of her own. He offered her a small smile, almost amused by the fact that she had noticed him. He bowed his head once again to her before striding out of the library holding a book of his own – she couldn't help but admire his broad shoulders as he left, shaking her head with a bemused smile as she turned back to her reading, imagining the teasing she would receive from her brother if he caught her casting admiring looks at tall, dark strangers. 


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8** _

  
Days passed, and Théadain's vigil in the library continued, even as she grew more and more certain that her search for answers would prove fruitless. Any information she could find seemed to imply that it would take an equally powerful practitioner of magic to lift the enchantment that lay on her father, but she knew that Saruman the White had been hailed as the most powerful wizard in Middle Earth, leaving her with little hope that Gandalf would be able to assist her.

Once in those few days, she had met a pair of grey eyes through the bookshelf she had been perusing, exchanging a small smile but saying nothing as they both went about their tasks.

Sensing her friend's growing despair, Arwen had coaxed her away for a day, encouraging her to saddle Folca and ride with her through the forests. Théa had been to visit her horse every morning since their arrival, enjoying the solace of his quiet presence, but she could admit they both needed to stretch their legs. Under the autumn leaves of the woodlands, Théadain also experienced the curious effect Rivendell had on her words. Here she felt she could talk about anything, and throughout the day words poured out of her like water to Arwen, voicing every doubt about her journey here, how much she missed her brother and cousins, her concerns about her company and Rohan's borders, even going to far as to ponder aloud what her mother would make of her now – a thought she had only ever spoken to Théodred. By the time they returned to the stables as the evening drew in, she felt lighter; as if a weight had been lifted from her chest.

"You needed today, my friend." Arwen smiled as their horses were taken to be fed, watching Théa give Folca's cheek a gentle pat of farewell.

"I did." She admitted, "More than you know, thank you Arwen." She smiled warmly, reaching out to link arms with the brunette as they made their way up through the entwined walkways. After Arwen left her in her chambers, Théa washed and changed from her riding wear to slip on a borrowed skirt, tucking her own burgundy shirt into the waistband and rolling her sleeves to just beneath her elbow. Making her way back down to the open level where the evening meal was served, she scooped her long hair back into a loose knot at the nape of her pale neck, securing it with the leather tie she wore looped around her wrist.

"Lady Théadain!" She smiled as Lindir greeted her from his seat at one of the long tables, offering her the space on the bench beside him, "I see you have broken free of your studious solitude." He teased, reaching over to pour her a cup of wine from the pitcher on the table.

"For one day." She smiled playfully at the elf who had first greeted her when she arrived, "I don't imagine it will hurt my progress, for I feel I have made none."

"Do not disparage your efforts." He soothed as bowls of a warm vegetable broth were laid before them. She only cast him a doubtful glance as she began eating.

"Regardless." She sighed after a few mouthfuls, reaching for the bowl of bread between them and dipping a piece in her broth, "The day away from the library has done me good, I can return tonight with a clear mind."

"Tonight?" He looked at her in bewilderment, "Do not dream of it Théadain, start afresh in the morning – I am sure we can find ample amusement for this evening."

She smiled at her companion and nodded, chewing her bread thoughtfully, "Alright," She hummed after swallowing, "One night, and you had best make it worth it." She added playfully.

Once she had finished eating, Lindir led her down through the levels and walkways to the valley floor, following a pathway through the trees to an intimate, concealed clearing where a fire blazed in the centre. Théadain looked around in awe at the elves that were gathered there, seated on thick cushions, some softly playing instruments whilst others spoke amongst themselves.

She recognised Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond, speaking animatedly with another elf as Lindir led her to them.

"My lords." He bowed with a smile as they looked up, their beautiful features softened by the flickering firelight.

"Lindir, and Lady Théadain, this is an honour." Elladan smiled, offering Théa his hand so she could lower herself onto the cushion beside his.

"The honour is all mine, Elladan." She smiled into the perpetually youthful eyes of the elf who, along with his brother, sparred with her and helped her train during her previous visit.

"You have grown, my lady – you may have a better chance of beating us in the training grounds now." Elrohir grinned fondly at her as he pressed a cup of wine into her hand.

"Perhaps I will try my luck." She teased, nudging his side. Despite the hundreds of years the twins had lived, much like their sister, she never seemed to notice it when they spoke. They had a way of making her feel that she was no less experienced than them, so as to never make her feel isolated.

"Have you met our companion yet?" Elrohir nodded to the elf that sat across from them, and only then did she turn her eyes to meet a pair of piercing blue ones.

"I have not had the honour." She smiled a little breathlessly at the elf, taking in his porcelain features and perfectly straight, white-blond hair that fell around his shoulders. If someone had told her he had been sculpted from marble, she would have believed them.

"Legolas, son of Thranduil, of the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood." The blond elf introduced himself with an easy smile, "And you, my lady?"

"Théadain, daughter of Théoden, King of Rohan." She smiled, bowing her head a little in respect to the elven prince, "I had heard you had arrived in Rivendell shortly after I did."

"And he has been filling our heads with tales of adventure." Elladan chuckled, "Why not tell the lady of your exploits with the spiders?"

Without realising it, Théadain had spent hours seated in the clearing, enchanted by the tales of the three elvish princes. Even after Lindir had retired for the night and they had drawn closer to the fire, she stayed and listened, occasionally providing her own stories when prompted. Indeed, as the number of elves in the clearing became smaller, they drew around the warmth of the fire in one large group, listening intently to the shared tales. It wasn't until she looked up from where her gaze had been fixed on Legolas as he spoke, that she noticed the man sitting across the fire from her. She smiled warmly in greeting at the stranger from the library, wrapping her arms around her knees where they were curled up under her skirt. He offered her a small nod in return, turning to look as an elf leaned over to speak to him.

"Tell me, Lady Théadain-" She looked up from her study of the man's profile as Elrohir called her name, "Do you know the stories of when my brother and I rode with your grandfather?"

"Only details my father has told me." She smiled, "I never knew my grandfather, and your time with him was just after my father was born. I know there were others who assisted him in battle from beyond our lands, there was a man of the North, I believe his name was Thorongil?" She murmured, tilting her head as she tried to recall the details, "I'm sure you can tell the stories much better than I, Elrohir."

"Glady, my lady." The elf chuckled, and she did not miss the glance he cast over the fire to the grey-eyed man, "Though you are very accurate in your details, I remember Thorongil well."

She smiled and laid her head in her folded arms to listen, unaware of the focused gaze trained on her face from across the fire. As the night wore on, she stood to stretch, reaching behind her head as she did so to free her hair from its knot.

"Do you tire already, Théa?" Legolas looked up at her concernedly, and she couldn't help but smile at how quickly he had picked up her nickname from the twins.

"No Legolas, but my mortal legs are asleep." She laughed softly, "Let me walk a little, and then I will return." She promised, her heart warming at the kind smile she received as she turned to walk around the edges of the clearing, just outside the light of the fire but still safe within the cosy atmosphere created by the stories in the air. She took a deep breath to clear the pleasant fog that had settled on her mind after a few goblets of the sweet wine the twins had been pouring, glancing back to the fire as she saw another figure rise. She nodded to the man as she presumed he was rising to leave, but smiled in surprise as he walked to join her on her circuit of the clearing.

They said nothing for one complete turn, listening to whichever elf was recounting a tale of an orc-hunt in the Misty Mountains, before Théa stopped. She folded her arms loosely around her body as her eyes watched the flickering of the fire, determined that she would not be the first to speak. Her determination seemed to fail as she suddenly felt words leave her mouth.

"Are you enjoying the stories?"

He looked at her in surprise and smiled, nodding, "I am, particularly yours about the horse-stealing Wildmen." He chuckled as she flushed, remembering telling the story about one of the first attacks she had led as a young Marshal. She thought Elladan was on the verge of tumbling over at her tale of determination to recover a herd of stolen horses, and how if it hadn't been for Baldan curbing the youthful ferocity that nearly had her charging into a group of thirty Wildmen single-handedly, she would likely not have lived to tell the story. They had recovered the horses, it had taken her some weeks to recover her pride.

"I consider it one of my finest moments." She joked, looking up to meet his gaze.

"I had thought you were from Rohan." He murmured softly, his voice low and soothing in the darkness of the clearing, "I did not realise you were Théoden's daughter."

She nodded and toyed with a strand of her hair, "I am, and yet I cannot place where you are from. I thought Gondor at first, but your accent is one I have never heard." She admitted, her eyes following his back to the fire.

"I was raised here, in Rivendell." He confessed, his eyes lowering a little as she looked back to him in surprise, "Though I was born one of the _D_ _únedain_."

"Oh..." She exhaled, taking him in with renewed appreciation, "I have never met one of your race before – is that why Elrohir looked to you when I mentioned Thorongil? Did you know of him?"

He laughed softly at her question, baring a set of strong, white teeth as he did so, his eyes seeming to glimmer in the firelight as she looked at him in confusion. "It is a name I have not heard in a long time." He explained, and she watched as his left hand moved to twist a ring on his right, "Not since I was last in Rohan."

"You have been there?" She smiled at the mention of her homeland, "Perhaps our paths may have crossed before?" Although she knew she would have been able to recall meeting the man, especially as she had been so struck by his appearance.

"No, my lady, I am confident they have not." He said with a tone of certainty, his eyes returning to the fire as they once again lapsed into silence. Théa's stare remained fixed on him, trying to decipher just what it was that he clearly wasn't telling her. Of course, he owed her nothing, no explanation. They were strangers to each other, she did not even know his name – and yet something drove her to discover more, to solve the mystery of the captivating man before her.

Glancing back to the fire, Théa's eyes met Legolas' and she smiled as he nodded to the empty cushions beside him. She spared the man at her side a glance before moving to join the elf, smothering her look of astonishment as he followed her and lowered himself to the cushion at her side, making a low sound in his throat as he settled. She fixed her gaze on the dancing flames before her as a pair of elves took up a soft song, letting the foreign melody wash over her. It was somehow familiar, yet unlike any song she had ever heard. Other elves joined in gradually, but her rudimentary grasp of Sindarin only allowed her to pick out a few words from their emotive song. Their voices were so ethereal, she was almost lulled into a trance by the sound, before she was surprised as the low, gentle tones of the man beside her joined the elves. She watched him in slight awe at his command of the language, seeing the way he looked so deeply into the fire, lost in the words he was singing.

She almost didn't notice as the song finished, she was so spellbound by his face, the way it betrayed a pain she couldn't quite put her finger on as he sang. As subtly as the expression had appeared, it vanished with the last notes of song, and she bit her lip, about to say something before she was interrupted by Elrohir.

"Théa, will you not sing something for us? The ballads of the Rohirrim are beautiful." He requested, smiling as he noted how reluctantly her eyes pulled from the man that had chosen to sit beside her – a choice the elf knew would not have been made lightly.

"I would not inflict that upon you." She laughed softly, running one hand through her hair as she sat up, "My voice does not have the power needed for our ballads; my cousin Éowyn sings them so wonderfully, I have never been able to compete."

"A verse, or a poem then?" He coaxed, "Come, you have listened too long."

She smiled and shook her head at his teasing, "As you wish, Elrohir, I suppose there is one I know by heart."


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter 9_ **

  
"I suppose there is one I know by heart."

A curious pair of grey eyes settled on the young woman as she sat a little straighter on her cushion, noting the way her eyes darted to the elves seated around the fire, as if to check they were not watching her too closely. She had clearly been taken aback by Elrohir's request for a performance, the light flush on her freckled cheeks betraying her nerves. He couldn't ignore the way her ochre eyes met his before flicking back to settle on the flames, a deep breath causing her lithe frame to draw up and then settle comfortably. It was her eyes that had drawn him to sit at her side, the way they always seemed to be searching for something. He had seen the way those bronze pools had searched him for answers earlier, curious yet cautious, as if she were approaching a wild animal that would be spooked if she pressed too far.

She did not look cautious now as her lips parted, her face shifting to an expression of recollection, thoughtful and slightly mournful he thought, as she bean to speak in a gentle, melodic tone.

_"Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?_

_Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?_

_Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the bright fire glowing?_

_Where is the Spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?"_

She closed her eyes for a moment; long, dark lashes brushing her high cheekbones as she paused to remember the rest of the verse;

_"They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;_

_The days have gone down in the West, behind the hills into shadow._

_Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning, or behold the flowing years of the sea returning?"_

The fire crackled as she spoke the last words, drawing her lower lip under her teeth as she stared into the flames, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Théadain?" Legolas' hand on her shoulder stirred her from the trance of the lament, and she sat up, wiping at the single, traitorous tear that had slipped from her eye.

"Forgive me." She laughed in embarrassment at her display of emotion, "My father would recite the lament for me when I was a child, I think it reminded him of my mother." She sniffed a little and smiled into the concerned face of the elf.

"It was beautiful." Elladan murmured, smiling reassuringly at her as she waved her hand dismissively;

"It was too mournful, tell me of something joyful, Elladan." She smiled, drawing her knees up to her chest under her skirt and wrapping her arms around them as the elves responded to her request with a light-hearted tune – again, she did not understand the words, but the smiles on their faces were enough to lift the mood around the fire, if not the one that had settled on her as thoughts of Rohan had returned.

As she listened, laying her head on her folded arms, she caught the man at her side shifting a little closer to her out of the corner of her eye.

"You spoke well." He murmured after a moment of considering his words, unsure if it would be wise to share the memories and emotions that hearing the lament again had stirred within him.

"It is one of the only verses I remember well, I have never had a grasp on poetry and song; not the way I would like to." Théa sighed, turning her head a little to look at him, "I hear it in my head when I cannot sleep, my father's voice reciting it. When I was old enough to understand the words and meaning, I couldn't appreciate why he always reached for it, why it was his favourite." She whispered, seeing his stormy eyes soften as he listened, the other sounds around the fire ignored as his gaze made her feel that they were the only two in the clearing. "It always seemed so sad to me, but as I grew older, I realised that was _why_ he told me it. It makes you _feel_... Feel and remember, and that's not a bad thing."

"No, no it's not." He murmured as he gazed into her eyes, his look so intense yet gentle that she felt strangely vulnerable. "I have not heard that verse spoken since..." He looked away suddenly, as if he had said too much, and she sat up a little curiously.

"Since you were last in Rohan?" She guessed softly, biting her lower lip.

He nodded, looking down at the ground, "When I heard your grandfather reciting it to your father as a boy."

"I..." Théadain's words left her as she listened to what he had said. Her grandfather had died long before her birth, when her father had been a young man. Surely this man could not have known him? He looked to be a little older than her, but to have seen her father as a boy he would have to be near sixty. She frowned up at him, several times opening her mouth to speak but unable to form a coherent thought.

" _Thorongil_?" The name had crossed her lips before the thought had even settled in her mind, and he looked to her in surprise at the name, "A man of the North... You rode with my grandfather?" She breathed, looking at him in amazement, "When you said you had not heard the name in a long time... When Elrohir looked to you... It was you, wasn't it?"

A small smile quirked his lips as he listened to her reasoning, granting her a small nod to confirm her suspicions, "It was."

She sat back with a soft exhale, her mind spinning as she attempted to process what he had told her. She tried to calm the hundreds of questions that threatened to bubble from her lips, desperately trying to pick one that would not make her seem like a fool. "It is not the name you go by now, is it?" She murmured after a moment, satisfied that her words seemed sensible.

"No." He smiled, as if he was amused by her efforts to seem so unphased by his revelation.

"May I know your name? I cannot go on referring to you as 'The Grey-Eyed Man' in my head." She pleaded, and then blushed as she realised what she had said, and then flushed further as he laughed at her words. Those grey eyes danced with a relaxed amusement that she had not seen before, as if he had dropped a barrier in revealing his identity.

"Walk with me." He smiled, moving to rise, "You have more questions, and the elves will sing again another night."

She nodded, turning to make her farewells to Legolas and the elves at her side, not missing the amused gazes that told her they had heard much of their conversation, hinting that they perhaps had known the identity of her companion all along.

"Tomorrow, the training grounds." Elrohir grinned to her as she rose, her answering nod a promise that she would meet them there as she turned to follow the man from the clearing out into the deeper woods. She jogged a little to catch up with is long strides, looking up at him curiously as he slowed to match her pace. She was desperate to ask for his name again, but knew it would come with time.

"I did not know my true name for much of my life." He murmured after a few minutes, leading her on a twisting path through the trees, illuminated only by the pale moonlight filtering though the sparse branches, "As a child I was called Estel."

"When you lived here? In Rivendell?" She asked softly, looking up into his unreadable expression, and then biting her tongue to stop herself pressing too far with her questioning.

He nodded, "Even when Lord Elrond revealed the true name my father had given me, I was encouraged to hide it, that is why I went by Thorongil when I travelled in Rohan and Gondor." He explained softly, glancing at the young woman that shadowed his steps, seeing the curiosity clear on her face as she listened, and the equally clear restraint she showed as she bit back her flow of questions. "After that I travelled West to join the Rangers of the North, my kin, and as one of them I had no need to conceal my name, yet the folk of the surrounding lands came to call me 'Strider'."

"I can see why." She huffed a little, taking an exaggerated step to match his, causing him to laugh loudly without inhibition. The clear sound echoing off the trees around them as she joined him, and beneath a bowed oak he stopped to look down at her, his eyes dancing with mirth as their laughter settled.

"I have taken more names than most men in my lifetime." He murmured, "Though I never thought I would be identified now by my time as Thorongil."

"Your true name though." She smiled, reaching up to catch a low-hanging branch with one hand, "Do you continue to conceal it?"

"At times, yes." He smiled, leaning to grasp the same branch with ease, her reaching almost bringing their faces level, "With my name comes an identity I have never... Felt comfortable with." He admitted softly, his voice lowering as his gaze became more intense, fixing on her eyes, "Even now I do not reveal it to those I cannot be sure of."

"Can you be sure of me?" She whispered, her grip on the branch tightening as she was swept up in the force of his stare, "Estel... Thorongil... Strider?"

"Aragorn." He whispered in answer, the word hanging in the air between them like smoke. She smiled warmly at she heard it, her eyes shining in the moonlight as she realised the weight of the word, and the trust that came with it.

"Aragorn." She repeated softly, the word pleasant on her tongue. He found he liked the way she said it, breathy and tender, as if she cherished the knowledge of it.

"Théadain." He smiled, speaking her own name for the first time, though it had been no secret. She shivered a little at the desperately intimate way he handled the word, her hand tightening its grip further on the branch, feeling the tension of the bough as her body reacted to the charged moment between them.

A moment that was abruptly ended as the branch snapped between them, narrowly missing both of their faces as it fell and Theádain stumbled a little, having been placing most of her weight on it. Aragorn caught her elbow with a chuckle as she laughed in surprise, guiding her upright as she grinned sheepishly at him.

"Perhaps it is time to retire for the night." She suggested, brushing the splintered bark from her shirt, "Before we damage the forest further."

"Perhaps." He smiled, his thumb sweeping over the soft skin of her exposed forearm where he still held it in his gentle grip, before releasing her.

They walked silently back through the trees, but it was a companionable silence, each content in the company of the other as they re-entered the softly lit courtyards of Rivendell. Aragorn walked her to the foot of the stairs that led to her quarters, laying his hand on the carved rail as she turned to bid him goodnight.

"Thank you." She whispered, "You didn't have to tell me, or answer any of my questions."

"You truly believe you would not have pursued me until you knew?" He smiled teasingly, grinning as he dodged the playful swipe aimed at his shoulder.

"I am always courteous to strangers." She laughed quietly, conscious that the whole valley seemed to already be abed, "Though now we are friends I can torture you at will."

He raised a spirited eyebrow at her statement, "You have more questions for me?"

"Many. Hundreds." She smiled teasingly, stepping towards him as she linked her hands behind her back.

"One." He hummed, "And in return I may ask one of you."

"Fair." She nodded, her eyes tracing his features as she tried to put her one precious question into tactful words, "I cannot phrase what I want to say, I do not think there is a polite way to do it." His answering grin reassured her, "I... I cannot place your age." She admitted, biting her lip as she watched him carefully for any traces of offence, "I know little of your race, but I know the _D_ _únedain_ live long lives..."

"You truly wish to know?" He murmured, seeing her small yet sure nod, "My kin have been known to live beyond two hundred years, I am in my eighty seventh year." He watched her eyes widen a little in surprise, her head tilting curiously as she studied his features, as if she was looking for some aspect of his face that would betray his age, a soft 'hm' of acceptance escaping her throat.

"Your eyes." She whispered, "They have seen more than your face betrays... In every other way, I couldn't have guessed."

"Do you view me differently, knowing my age?"

"Is that your one question?" She smiled playfully, rising onto the balls of her feet as she realised that he did look genuinely concerned at the thought, "No, I don't view you differently, I am glad I understand a little more about you." She said earnestly, seeing his expression relax into a small, fond smile. She reached out and brushed a shard of bark from his shoulder, a reminder of the snapped branch in the forest. She watched his eyes follow her hand as she withdrew it, smiling gently, "Goodnight, Aragorn." She whispered, turning to set her foot to the wooden steps.

"Sleep well, Théadain." He murmured after her, smiling as she glanced back over his shoulder to meet his eyes once more before lightly bounding up the stairs to the level her room was on. 


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter 10_ **

  
Théadain's cry of frustration echoed off the surrounding trees as she was thrown onto her back, the wooden sparring sword in her hand hitting the dusty ground with a clatter. Loose strands of her tied-back hair stuck to the nape of her neck as she hauled herself to her feet, her shirt damp with sweat, though it was a cool day.

"Again, Elrohir." She growled.

The past few mornings had been spent sparring with the twins, and occasionally Legolas, in a clearing nestled in a quiet patch of woodland, far enough away from the main buildings of Rivendell that the sound of sparring would not disturb the elves.

"You are distracted today." The brunette commented as he twirled his sword in his hands.

"I am frustrated." She sighed, rubbing a palm over her collarbone where she had taken a heavy knock, "I fear I have scoured every relevant book in the tongue of men that your father owns, and still I am no closer to finding the answers I seek."

"Then use your frustration, channel it, do not strike out at me blindly." He murmured, readying himself as she snorted.

"You think I do not say the same thing to the young men I train?" She smiled wryly, "I know, Elrohir, and you know I do not need schooled on the details of combat, can we not just let these mornings be a release?"

"I just hate to see you lose so often." He chuckled, stepping forward to lay his first blow, and the sound of wood-on-wood rang out through the clearing once more as she blocked it. The sounds continued, his sword sweeping and arcing elegantly in that particular elven style she could never have mastered. Her motions were more practical, direct. The ones her father had taught her with her first wooden sword in the Golden Hall, as soon as she was old enough to hold one. She gritted her teeth as they locked weapons once more. He was fast, and she rarely landed a blow on his body – likewise, he struggled to make contact with her, the only times he could land a blow were the moments when her human body made some small error, or was just that little bit slower. Still, all she sought was the opportunity to hit _something_ to release the anxious, frustrated energy that crackled under her skin. If she could not hit Elrohir directly, she would settle for his sword.

It was with another crash of wood that her blade met his again, her fiery eyes locking with his measured gaze as she used a calculated flick of her blade the knock the sword from his hand.

"Better." He laughed, shaking his hand where her hilt had caught it. She smiled and bent to retrieve the sword for him, handing it over with as her breath came in pants after the effort of the fight.

"I should be returning to my work – do you think your father will have time to speak with me today?" She murmured, seeing the way his expression changed to one of sympathy, "I know he is still preoccupied with this council of his, but I fear there is little more I can do for my father in Rivendell. It may be time for me to return home soon."

"I will speak with him if I get the chance, Théa." He promised gently, reaching to take the sword from her hands.

"Thank you, my friend." She smiled, bidding him farewell as she turned to walk the path back to the main courtyard. She toyed with the lacing at the open neck of her drenched black shirt, tugging it away from the skin in an attempt to dry herself. It felt good to work and move her body again, after a few sedentary weeks, but she couldn't deny that she felt a little disgusting after seeing that the elves barely broke a sweat during the training sessions. As she passed through an archway into the courtyard, she looked in confusion at the commotion that appeared to be caused by the arrival of a lone rider, heavily clothed for winter riding with a shield strapped to his back. He had already dismounted and was being seen to by a group of elves; his arrival seemed to have been expected. She suspected the council must be drawing close, the day before a party of dwarves was said to have arrived, but she had yet to glimpse them. Considering the centuries of ill-feeling between the races of elves and dwarves, she had been surprised to hear that a group had made their way to Rivendell; whatever the council was being held for, it must be important.

Théadain moved to skirt the edge of the courtyard, not wishing to be caught in conversation in her current unkempt state. As she passed him, she cast the man a curious glance and paused as she glimpsed his face.

"Boromir?" She frowned, seeing the redheaded man turn towards her, confusion crossing his face before being replaced with recognition.

"Théadain? It cannot be." He laughed, walking towards her and holding out his arms, sweeping her into a tight embrace as she choked on a surprised laugh.

"Oh don't- I've been training!" She laughed, playfully pushing him away but holding him by his upper arms as she took him in, "Goodness you got tall, and that _beard_ \- a vast improvement on those first attempts I saw."

He grinned and playfully ruffled her hair, "You got more freckles."

She swatted him away, smiling up at the man she had first met when he and his father had visited Rohan the year after she had first visited Rivendell, when she had begun training in earnest to become a Marshal. The son of the Steward had been a few years older than her, and had often chosen to spar and talk with Éomer until she had forced herself into both their conversations and fights. "What are you doing in Rivendell?"

"My father sent me to attend Lord Elrond's council." He smiled, "Is that why you are here?"

"No, not exactly." She smiled, reluctant to tell him of her father's failing health. As relations with Gondor had been so strained in recent years, she did not think it would be wise to betray her father's weakness to the son of Gondor's Steward. "I have been furthering my training and studies." She explained, pleased that she had not lied to her friend. He nodded and turned as an elf called to him.

"Forgive me, I should go and find my chambers." He smiled, clapping her shoulder convivially, "Perhaps I will see you this evening?"

"I hope so, I'm sure we will have much to talk over. It has been too long Boromir." She said fondly, receiving a parting bow from him as he turned to follow the elf that had called him. She smiled in amusement at the reappearance of her old companion, before going to make her way to her room, already hearing the tempting call of her bath.

*

Curled on the chaise on her balcony hours later, a heavy book laying open on the soft velvet where she could comfortably read it, Théa let a small groan of frustration pass her lips as the passage she had been hopefully following turned out to be of no use to her at all. The words _'Athelas to clear the fevered mind'_ would forever be seared into her skull if she had to read them once more. She rubbed her hands over her face and sat up, looking out over the scenery below her to ease her torment. Even in the fading light of the late autumn sun, the valley was still so beautiful, but it brought her little comfort. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had reached a dead end. The three remaining books on her desk in the room represented the last lines of inquiry she could make, and then she would have exhausted every resource she had in Rivendell, save for the mind of Lord Elrond himself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock at her door; "Come in." She called softly, rising to brush the creases from her clean shirt and skirt as the young female elf opened the door on the far side of the room.

"Lady Théadain, my Lord Elrond has requested your company in his study." She smiled warmly as Théa's heart leapt at her words.

"Really? Thank you." She breathed, scrambling to tug on her boots as she hurried to the door. She bobbed an awkward bow to the elf as she left the room and hurried down the hallway. Perhaps Elrond had found some way to help her father, perhaps he had an answer for her, one that could not be found in his books.

She gasped as she rounded a corner near the library and collided with a solid chest, a large hand catching her arm to steady her.

"Théadain." She heard the smile in Aragorn's voice before she saw it, and couldn't help but answer with one of her own. She had not seen him since they had said their goodnights after their walk through the forest some days ago, but the rugged man had rarely been far from her thoughts. She noted his neat appearance, his grey velvet jerkin and dark shirt accenting his eyes pleasingly.

"Aragorn." She panted, breathless after her hopeful rush down the corridor, "Forgive me, Lord Elrond has summoned me..."

He smiled at the optimistic light in her eyes and the anticipation in her voice, "Go to him, I will not be far, we can speak this evening." He promised, releasing her arm with a little reluctance, despite his words.

"Thank you." She smiled, catching his hand and squeezing it to show her appreciation of his understanding. She hurried away, passing the library and the walkways that led to the rooms of heirlooms and paintings kept safe by the elves, skidding to a halt outside the study of the elf lord. Taking a breath, she raised a fist to knock, but the door was opened before she could.

"Come in, Théadain." Elrond smiled at her surprised expression, stepping back to allow her to enter. She tried to seem somewhat composed as she entered the candlelit room, walking to the seat she had first occupied when she had arrived so many weeks ago. She opened her mouth to speak as he took a seat in front of her, but somehow sensed he would need no prompting. "Elrohir told me you were anxious to speak with me."

Her heart fell as she recalled her conversation with his son that morning, realising she had not been summoned here because he had found a solution for her. "I... Yes." She nodded, swallowing thickly, "I... Lord Elrond I fear I have run out of paths to follow." She whispered, "I have been searching your libraries since I arrived, I can find no more relevant books to read. I... I had hoped you may have thought of something, for if you have not..." She took a trembling breath and ran one hand through her hair, "If I cannot find help in Rivendell, then I feel I must return home. If I cannot save my father from Saruman's hold, then I hope to spend the rest of his days by his side."

He looked into her tortured eyes and sat up a little, nodding in understanding, "I had hoped you may find some information of use to you, and I am sorry that you have not. No one could doubt your dedication to helping your father." He reached to take her hands, holding them gently in his cool ones. "Though I must make a request of you, Théadain. Stay in Rivendell, if only for a few days more. I wish for you to attend the council, your voice will be valuable there, and it may come to pass that we may help your father with what is decided there."

"I... I had not considered it, in truth I had been somewhat ignoring the mentions of the council." She admitted, biting her lip, "I... What will it be about? Why have you gathered all of these representatives from different lands?"

"I cannot tell you all, not yet." He murmured, "But I can tell you that it will concern the fate of all of Middle Earth, Rohan included. The power of the enemy is rising, and I know you have seen the effects of this darkness, attacking the borders of free lands."

"You mean Mordor? Sauron?" She whispered, her mind flying to the tales she had been told as a child, engrained in her memory. Unspeakable evils and the bravery of men, a dark lord with the power to threaten all lands. She shuddered at the thought, painfully aware that the tales were so very real, but they had always been told in the hope that they would fade to mere stories, and the world would never face that darkness again.

"I do, Sauron has returned, his spirit endured." He confirmed, seeing the carefully controlled fear in her eyes, "And we, the free races, must decide what is to be done... What our next move will be."

"A Last Alliance." She whispered, recalling the name of that final battle, the one where it had been hoped that at last, Middle Earth would be free of darkness.

He nodded, squeezing her hands as if to reassure her, "Will you attend, Théadain?"

"I... I will." She breathed after a moment of consideration, "I cannot promise I will be able to help, but if you believe I will be of use..."

"I do." He smiled, rising and gesturing for her to do the same, "I will inform you of when it is to be held, but I believe we have sufficient representatives to move forward soon."

"Thank you, Lord Elrond." She murmured as they walked to the door, "For everything, your counsel and your kindness in allowing me to stay..."

"You will always be welcome in _Imladris_ , Théadain, daughter of Théoden." He smiled gently as he opened the door, offering her a shallow bow, which she returned before stepping out of the peaceful study. 


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11** _

  
A trembling breath, little short of a sob escaped Théadain's lips once she had paced a safe distance from Elrond's door. Her heart hammered in her ears and her mind thrashed like an animal in a snare.

_'Sauron has returned. His spirit endured.'_

Lord Elrond's words repeated over and over inside her head as she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to stop another sound of despair escaping her lips.

How could this have happened _again_? How could the world make the same mistakes that had allowed a dark power to rise once before?

Would the free world survive it a second time?

_How did it come to this?_

She squeezed her eyes shut to force back her traitorous tears of fright, drawing in an unsteady breath in an attempt to settle herself. The news had shocked her, to the very core of her being, but she knew she must not let herself succumb to it. She was a leader, a daughter of Rohan, Third Marshal of the Mark and the blood of kings ran in her veins; she would not bow to this crushing tide of fear.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she began to pace; up and down the shadowed walkway too many times to count. The sun had long since sank below the valley walls, leaving Rivendell bathed in the silver light of the autumn moon. Walking was all she could manage as she tried to place her thoughts in order. The desire to run to the stables now, to saddle Folca and race with all speed to Rohan was nearly overwhelming. Not only did she need to warn her family and people, but in that moment all she needed was the comfort of her home. She needed Théodred to wrap her in his arms and crush her to his chest. She needed Éowyn to hold her hands and for Éomer to ruffle her hair and tell her that everything would be all right, that she could handle this. She needed her father.

Her father that she had failed to help. She had come all this way, left everything she knew and loved in the search of answers, and now she would return with _nothing_?

The clatter of metal on stone jerked her from her tangle of thoughts, and she shrank back into the shadow of an alcove at the sound of footsteps, not wanting anyone to see her in her tormented state.

She needn't have worried, further up the corridor, she saw the figure of Boromir stride from a doorway, his shoulders tense as he descended a flight of steps out into the evening. Without consciously choosing to, her feet led her to the doorway he had passed though, wrapping her arms around herself as she remembered the airy chamber that lay within.

She had been frightened of that room once. She remembered being furious with herself on her first visit when she had discovered it. It was a childish, irrational fear, not becoming of one training to be a soldier. She had forced herself to spend hours overcoming it.

It was the painting. She knew it was irrational to fear an image, conjured by an artist in oil on wood, but she had never before seen the figure of Sauron, laid out on the wall for all to see. Whilst the menacing figure looming over the heroic form of Isildur had unsettled her when she was first confronted with it, it had taken her some time to realise that it was also the shattered sword that faced the painting which frightened her. The actual object reflected in the portrait was confirmation. Assurance that the stories she had been told were true. The blade had _touched_ Sauron; defeated him, stripped him of his power. She recognised that it was displayed in celebration, an artefact of victory, but she had also recognised it as a warning. All that had come to pass was real, and the sword was ready should it be needed again.

Théadain shuddered as her memories of fear mingled with the very real terror that had settled in her chest, realising that what had first unsettled her as a young girl had now grown into a very real enemy. She bit her lip and slowly passed through the doorway, knowing she had to lay eyes on the painting once more, to focus her fear and give it a form that she could face.

Her feet faltered as she rounded a corner and her eyes fell on the plinth where the shards of Narsil were displayed, the sight she had anticipated interrupted by an unexpected figure. She gripped her own upper arms tightly as she took in the sight of Aragorn, rising from where he seemed to have bent to lift the hilt of the broken blade from where it had fallen to the marble floor. Her gaze tracked his features as he tightened his grip on the hilt, his eyes conflicted as he held it for a long moment. The proportions of Narsil had always seemed extravagant to Theádain, too long, too great, yet in his hand the large pommel did not seem excessive. He looked balanced, or he would have if the length of the blade had been complete.

With a surprising tenderness, he laid the hilt back to its place on the plinth, stepping back and laying his palm over his chest. In that moment Théa contemplated turning to leave, feeling that she was intruding on a personal reflection, but as she released a soft breath that she had held since walking in, she saw his head turn slightly towards her, acknowledging her presence. Casting a wary glace at the painting behind his back, she slowly walked to his side, hugging her elbows tightly to her body as she followed his eyes to the sword. She had not realised that she was holding herself so tightly to try and stop her body trembling; she knew he saw it too, but said nothing, the only sound carrying into the open chamber was the chirping of insects in the forest outside. They stood together, each sensing that the other needed the companionship, some form of comfort, but neither sure of how to give it.

It was hesitantly that Aragorn raised his hand to lay it gently on her shoulder nearest to him, reluctant to break the peace of their shared moment, but unable to continue doing nothing as he felt her tremble at his side, her eyes lost as they stared out beyond the sword that lay before them, the symbol of his lineage that haunted him. Something had shocked her, to disturb the quiet composure she always carried, the composure he had only seen slip when she had spoken of her father as they sat around the fire in the woods. He was reassured as she slowly leant into the comforting weight of his hand, her head dropping from where she had been staring into nothingness.

"I am frightened, Aragorn." She confessed softly, her voice shaking, threatening to break into a sob, but she reined it in with a steadying breath, "I do not know what to do. I feel so lost."

He looked to her in surprise as her words reflected what had been playing on his own mind, the fear, the doubt, everything he had been mulling over as he had sat alone in this room. Of course, he had chosen to come here, to confront his fears, but he did not feel he had managed it. "As am I." He whispered after a long moment, not allowing himself to look down into her face as he kept his eyes trained on Narsil. "I fear I do not have the strength to do what I must. I fear the weakness in my blood will lead me down a path of destruction, and I will not be able to fight it. I will be bound to the fate of the men who came before me."

The words had left him before he realised it, and once again he wondered at himself. This young woman, who now seemed so small beside him, her shaking slowly calming under the warmth of his large hand, did not need to bear to weight of his worries. And yet once more he had told her more than he had sworn to ever tell another. His name had been enough, from that he was sure she would have eventually traced his lineage, and now this place, his words... Perhaps he had wanted her to know, to share with another soul who seemed to understand – or if she could not, she seemed to always try. Yet he knew he was being selfish, he could see she carried her own burdens. Her frantic studies in the library and the way she spoke of her father had alerted him to her reasons for coming here, though she had never told him as much. Now, here she stood at his side, appearing to have been seeking solitude to process whatever had upset her, and he had egotistically added further weight to her burden.

Théadain lifted her head to study his face, his words settling on her as she tried to decipher his meaning. She lifted her own hand to gently squeeze his, where it still rested on her shoulder. The action had grounded her, and she was grateful for the contact that had drawn her out of her isolated thoughts.

"I..." She began, swallowing thickly as she tried to organise her fears into words, "This rising darkness, I have only just learned of it and I feel so powerless to stop it... I do not know where my path is leading me anymore. Once I was sure, I was so _certain_ of all that my life would be and now..." She sighed, tightening her hold on his fingers as if to anchor herself to him, "I am afraid it is all lost. There is nothing I can do."

She bit her lip and shook her head, knowing that her words would not help whatever internal conflict he faced. Standing here, voicing their fears aloud would do nothing to soothe them, not unless she could understand what he was telling her, and offer some words of comfort. Her eyes fell back to the shards of the sword, her mind recalling the way Aragorn had looked holding it in his hand; the sword that the heir of Isildur would one day wield again if legend was to be believed.

With a sudden intake of breath, her shaken mind settled the fragments of information for her. This room, the sword, _Aragorn_.

"You are the Heir of Elendil." She whispered, the words not sounding like a question as she had hoped, but more of a statement. His hand tightened on her shoulder at her words, before withdrawing with a troubled sigh, confirming her thoughts. "Aragorn." She breathed, turning as he moved to back away, catching his hand in both of hers and holding it tightly, her anxious eyes pleading; "Don't go."

He sighed and turned to meet her eyes, his own betraying the turmoil that had gripped his heart at her words. "I know what it is you think of me, of that title, Théadain." He breathed, and for a moment she realised that her recognition of his lineage had indeed sparked hope in her; "But I am not a noble king of old, I have not carried down the strength of my forefathers."

"Yet you think you have carried down their weakness?" She breathed, stepping towards him, still holding his hand tightly, feeling the textured metal of the ring he wore digging into her fingers, "Aragorn, I do not know you well, my opinions may mean nothing to you, but I see no weakness in you. Doubt, yes, certainly bravery, to come to this place and face the path you fear to tread..." Her eyes searched his, seeing a vulnerability there that she had not witnessed before, "I see many things in you, Aragorn, but I know you are neither Elendil or Isildur, nor any man that came after. You have your own strength, to overcome what they could not. You do not need theirs. I know you speak of Isildur's Bane, but it is not your fate to repeat his mistakes, your fate is your own."

The room was silent, save for Théadain's breathing that came heavy after her words, fuelled by a passion she had not thought she could summon. She had to look away from his intense gaze that seemed to strip her bare and let him see straight into her heart. She knew she had said too much, spoken out of turn where her words were not wanted. She released his hands, daring to meet his eyes, unable to interpret what she saw there; "I... Forgive me." She whispered, turning to stride from the room, not seeing the way he reached for her hand just as she stepped out of reach, leaving him alone in the room with the broken blade. 


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter 12_ **

  
Gasping in a breath of the night air, Théadain found that she had run all the way to the courtyard where she used to sit with her father. Her legs had carried her as far from Aragorn as she could get. What had she been thinking? She barely knew the man, but felt the right to make statements about his character and lineage? What had come over her?

She scrubbed her hands over her face with a groan, staring up at the sky as she buried her fingers in her hair. Perhaps she had been so frightened by the knowledge that Sauron had risen again, she had clutched at any hope the free world had. The Heir of Elendil coming forth would be no small blow to Sauron, he would not have forgotten how he was cut down at the hands of that line of men.

Yet Aragorn's fear of the power that had led to Isildur's death was not misplaced. The weapon of the enemy, the Ring that Isildur had taken as an heirloom of his house had the power to corrupt weaker men, but surely he would not face that same corruption? The One Ring had been lost with Isildur, never to be heard of again, surely it could not trouble Aragorn now?

She sighed and shook her head, turning to sit on her familiar stone bench, but stopped when she saw she was not alone.

"Excuse me, Miss, I didn't mean to startle you."

The warm smile she received from the short figure sat on the stone surprised her. She quickly took in his fair curly hair, her eyes falling next to his nearly equally hairy, large feet, which dangled a little off the ground where he sat. She had never encountered a Halfling before, in truth, there were some East of the Mountains that didn't believe the race existed at all, reclusive as they were.

"No, forgive _me,_ Master Hobbit." She smiled gently, her troubled features relaxing to greet him, "I did not mean to interrupt your peaceful evening."

"We can share it?" He offered the seat beside him, which she accepted graciously, "Samwise Gamgee, Miss. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Théadain, daughter of Théoden." She replied, shaking the warm hand he held out with a smile, "I have never met one of your race before."

"Well, I'll admit I thought you were an elf at first, Miss Théadain." He chuckled, "I am still getting used to seeing them, I had always wanted to."

"And how does a Hobbit find himself looking for elves in Rivendell?" She mused, charmed by his colloquial accent and cheerful, polite manner.

"We- myself and three others- left the Shire to meet Gandalf the Grey." He explained, "Though, things didn't quite go to plan, we would never have made it here if it weren't for a fellow called Strider." Samwise didn't seem to notice the way Théa tensed at the mention of 'Strider', and continued to speak; "And now, well I reckon it won't be long before we return to the Shire, we've done what we set out to do and now we can go home."

"I would very much like to be going home." She sighed, resting her hands on the stone bench and leaning on them to stretch her shoulders, "But I fear things are not going to plan with me either, Lord Elrond has asked me to stay longer than I intended, but I hope to be making my way home soon too."

"Is that why you looked so frustrated? I couldn't help but notice when you arrived..." He flushed a little at his question, and she laughed gently to reassure him.

"Not quite, Samwise." She smiled, looking down at her feet, "No, I... Have you ever regretted saying something to someone? Someone who... Well... When it matters what they think of you?" She bit her lip and glanced at the Hobbit, seeing him look up to the sky as his mouth twisted in thought.

"I have regretted _not_ saying something, Miss." He murmured, "But never saying something that needed to be said... Did it need to be?"

"I... Perhaps?" She shrugged, "I think... Maybe he needed to hear it? Though it maybe should have come from someone who knows him better?" She sighed and ran her hands through her hair, "There is nothing I can do now- The words are out, perhaps he will just disregard them."

"If it was important, I'm sure whoever it is will be grateful, it might just take him time to realise it." Samwise smiled gently at his companion. Théa returned his smile warmly, nodding as she took in his words hopefully.

"What is it you regretted _not_ saying, Samwise Gamgee?" She murmured fondly, watching the Hobbit's cheeks colour deeply.

"I... I wish before we'd gone I told Rosie Cotton what I... Well what I feel for her." He blushed, "If there was ever a Hobbit I'd like to marry, it'd be her, but we've been gone so long now..."

"Well you seem like a fine fellow, I'm sure this Rosie Cotton will have waited for you, she would be a fool not to." Théadain smiled warmly.

"As soon as I return, I'm marching straight up to her door and letting her know." He nodded resolutely, as Théadain smiled and looked out to the dark trees that lay beyond the courtyard and buildings.

"Good, we should not run from what frightens us." She murmured softly.

"Sam?" A new voice made her glance up as a second, dark haired Hobbit padded across the stone courtyard, his wide blue eyes hesitant as he looked her up and down.

"Master Frodo." Samwise smiled, hopping up from the bench, "Miss Théadain, this is Master Frodo- I, well, I'm his gardener." He explained, tripping over his words as Frodo laughed, relaxing as he saw the familiarity Sam used when speaking to the woman.

"I am his friend." Frodo corrected him, clapping him on the back.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Frodo." Théa laughed at the easy camaraderie between the pair, "Are you one of Sam's companions from the Shire?"

"I am." Frodo nodded, looking to his friend as if to question how much he had told of their journey, "And our other companions are already at supper inside, if you would care to join us?"

"Thank you, but I think I will sit a little longer." She smiled gently, nodding to Sam, "But thank you, Samwise, for your advice and company."

*

Dawn broke three mornings after Théadain had bid goodnight to the charming Samwise Gamgee and Frodo in the courtyard, and she rose to wash and dress. The night before, Elladan had come to her door to inform her that the long-awaited Council would be held in the morning.

Her heart seemed to thrum in her ears, her body full of an anxious energy that she could not get rid of as she combed her long hair. She settled her burgundy velvet jerkin over her shirt and skirt, hoping she looked formal enough for the gathering as she tried to arrange her hair pleasingly, sighing as she let it fall in its usual unruly waves.

Aragorn would be at the council, but she had not seen him since she had fled his presence two nights ago. She did not imagine he would want to see her, much less hear her opinions on how they should fight the rising evil of Sauron. No, she had already said too much on matters she knew little of.

Grimacing at her own stupidity, she turned to leave, walking down through the corridors and walkways, stopping only to lift an apple from a bowl in the dining area as she passed through, noting two unfamiliar Hobbits bent over their breakfasts in a corner of the room - her friend Samwise was nowhere to be seen. She trod on, biting into the apple as she hopped down a flight of steps, skipping the last three to jump to the stone path. Anything she could do to spend her anxious energy before the council would be worthwhile, if it helped her to relax before she had to face her fears again. Following the path, she stopped as it arced into a small bridge over a river. She leant on the rail as she bit the apple down to the core, licking a trail of juice from the heel of her hand before drawing her arm back to whip the remains of the fruit into the river, watching it land a satisfactory distance away. Further downstream, she watched as a group of stout figures crossed a bridge that ran parallel to hers - dwarves attending the council. Théadain couldn't help but smile as she noted the axes strapped to their backs; only a dwarf would feel the need to be armed within the borders of Rivendell.

"Théadain?" She flinched at the sound of a voice behind her, turning to see Aragorn carefully stepping onto the bridge. It felt like a stone had been dropped to the pit of her stomach, she didn't have the first idea of what to say to him. "May I speak with you, before the council?" He murmured, stepping close to her carefully, as if afraid she would run from him again. When she nodded wordlessly in response, he reached to take her hand, gently, but the was a definite implication that he was holding her in place, making sure she would listen; "When last we spoke, you said that your opinion would not matter to me... It does, Théadain. You asked for my forgiveness and yet your words were not out of turn." He smiled a little at the look of surprise that crossed her features, as if she had been certain he would be angry with her, "Whatever is decided today, whatever path is chosen... Do not hold back your words, you are wiser than you believe." He released her hand, freeing her from the binding spell of his gaze as he gave a shallow bow and crossed the bridge, leaving her in her stunned silence as he followed the path to the courtyard where the council would be held.

Leaning back on the rail of the bridge, Théadain let out a bewildered huff of air. "That man..." She breathed, shaking her head. It was as if he knew exactly what he needed to say to soothe her anxieties, but as soon as he did so, his mere presence would scramble her thoughts again. "Idiot." She grumbled to herself, turning to look back to the river, trying to collect herself before heading to the council. She had felt this way before, in years past. Being attracted to a man was not something to be alarmed by, she could normally dispel the feeling by either getting to know him better and discovering he was a fool or getting drunk and kissing the man in question. Discovering that the object of attraction kisses like a mule and has breath to match usually chased the troublesome feelings away.

She had a disappointing feeling that she could not employ either of those methods here.

She would simply have to do her best to smother them.

With a sigh she pushed herself off the railing and followed the winding stone path, not wishing to be the last to arrive at the council. As she rounded a corner, she came in to view of the large circle of wooden chairs, seeing one empty beside Boromir and smiling warmly at him as she moved to settle in it.

"You decided to come, then?" The tall man smiled down at her as she settled her skirts neatly around her legs.

"Lord Elrond requested it." She replied, casting her eyes around the circle of chairs. Legolas and his elven companions sat with their backs to the forest, along with the wizard, Gandalf, and the small, overwhelmed-looking form of Frodo, his brilliant blue gaze darting around the circle anxiously. Then came others she did not recognise, Men, Dwarves, and on the other side of herself and Boromir, elves of Rivendell, including Lindir. Her eyes then met Aragorn's, offering him a friendly smile though his face was serious, focused on scanning the members of the council; she did not miss the way his eyes lingered on Boromir.

"I wish we would begin." Boromir murmured at her side as he shifted his legs anxiously, "Gondor has faced the spreading evil of Mordor alone for too long."

"Do not aggravate yourself, Boromir." She soothed, laying a hand on his arm that was clad in thick leather vambraces, stamped with the white tree of Gondor, "Middle Earth stands with you, whatever is decided today, Gondor will not be left to face this alone." She promised her old friend gently, seeing the concern etched on his features.

As the last few elves of Rivendell filtered in to take their seats, Lord Elrond followed, moving to stand in front of the grand chair at the head of the circle, his golden robes splendid in the morning sun. He stood quietly, casting his calculating gaze over the members of his council, waiting for the low murmur of conversation to silence before opening his mouth to speak.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as always!   
> Don't forget to leave a comment if you're enjoying the story, I'd love to hear what you think!  
> X


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter 13_**

  
_"You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."_

Even hours later, Lord Elrond's words rang in Théadain's ears as she bent over the basin of cold water in her room, splashing it over her face and neck to clear her mind.

"What have I agreed to?" She groaned to her rippling, warped reflection in the basin, grabbing a cloth to dry her face as she moved to collapse on the chaise on her balcony, watching the shadows grow long on the buildings as the sun set and running over the events of the day in her mind.

_Théadain had barely had a moment to catch her breath after the chaos caused by Gandalf's outburst of Black Speech. Though she had not understood the words they had seemed to pull the breath from her body and settle a crushing feeling of dread of her shoulders. Seeing the clear pain that it caused the elves painted on their faces nearly made her cry out for the wizard to stop, but she could not have found the strength. Boromir had stumbled back to his seat as soon as the effect had taken hold of him, and she was glad of it. In truth, she had been frightened by the way he had reached for the simple gold ring that Frodo had placed on the stone plinth._

_There was no doubt in her mind that it was truly Sauron's Ring. From the moment her eyes had settled on it, she had been uneasy. She felt the seductive draw of it and her repulsion at the object of power conflicting in her mind._

_"It is a gift..." She looked to the man at her side once more as he stood and dread gripped her stomach, his eyes had not left the ring since he had sat, and she doubted he had heard anything the wizard had said in warning; "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at by. By the blood of my people are your lands kept safe-"_

_"Safe?" The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it, her body rising to her feet almost of its own accord, spurred on by the anger that had suddenly flared in her at her friend's words, "No lands are safe, Boromir. It is by the blood of the men of Rohan that we keep our own lands safe, don't you dare credit yourself with their sacrifice." She breathed, her eyes boring in to his as he turned to glare at her, surprising her with the malice she saw in his own eyes. "Gondor has failed to stop the threat of Mordor reaching other lands, and I have seen the cost of that failure."_

_"How can the bastard daughter of a fading king accuse us of failure?" He snarled, taking an aggressive step towards her, "Your land is weak and your bloodline weaker, Théadain. You lead your ragged band of horsemen and call yourself a Marshal – you do not know what it is to defend a kingdom."_

_She fought to control the sheer rage that rose in her at his words, like a flame catching paper. "Call me bastard again, Stewardson." She spat, "I know what I am. At least I do not carry delusions of sitting on a throne I cannot have. Not even a ring of power can grant you that."_

_"Théadain-"_

_If Lord Elrond's measured tone had not cut through her anger, she honestly thought she may have struck Boromir. Indeed, she found her hands were already curled into fists at her side. She looked back to him, seeing the aggression in his eyes falter with her own. She had not been in control of her body, her words... It was terrifying. She stepped back, finding her way to her seat, mortified by what she had said. She would never have accused her friend of such things, it was like something had reached into her mind, grasped her darkest thoughts and pulled them to the surface. She heard Boromir continue to speak as she cradled her pounding head in her hands. It must have been the Ring doing this, how could he think he could use it?_

_"You cannot wield it, none of us can." Aragorn's clear, warning tone interrupted her thoughts, and she watched as Boromir turned to stare into the man's calm features. "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master."_

_"And what would a ranger know of this matter?"_

_At Boromir's venomous words, Théadain braced herself, preparing to see Aragorn gripped by the same rage that had taken her. Instead his features remained steady and composed, but it was Legolas who flew to his feet._

_"This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn." The elf defended fiercely, as Théadain's breath caught in her throat, "You owe him your allegiance."_

_"Aragorn? This is Isildur's heir?" Boromir turned to look at Aragorn with a combination of surprise and distain._

_"And heir to the throne of Gondor." The elfin prince reminded him as Th_ _éa tracked Aragorn's features for any signs of anger at his identity being revealed. Instead, with a gentle wave of his hand and a few words in elvish, the moment passed, and Legolas was seated again. It was however impossible to ignore Boromir's bitter mutter as he returned to his seat;_

_"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."_

_She could not meet her old friend's eyes as they sat beside each other once more, she was so ashamed of her behaviour, and so frightened that he was still gripped by the same power, that any attempt to reconcile would not be well met._

_She tried to focus as the council moved on, discussions on the hiding and destruction of the Ring resulting in one of the dwarves shattering his axe and being thrown back across the courtyard. It could not be destroyed by a weapon of dwarf, man or elf, and it could not be hidden, not even in the very depths of the sea. It was Lord Elrond's announcement that it could only be destroyed by returning it to the mountain of fire where it was forged that finally brought silence down upon the courtyard._

_When Boromir spoke again she flinched, listening warily to his haunting description of Mordor, and the Eye of Sauron, but she was unable to follow how his calm words suddenly devolved into shouting, along with Legolas, the dwarf Gimli, and seemingly everyone else in the circle. She gripped the arms of her chair with a gasp as she felt that same rage rise up again, but this time she was ready, she recognised it now and she could control it. Gritting her teeth as her head pounded painfully, she drove it down, forcing herself to look around the council with clear eyes._

_It had taken them all, even Gandalf. The only other council members that remained in their seats were Lord Elrond, Frodo and Aragorn. She sought the man's eyes in panic, seeing his reflecting her own helplessness at the chaos before them._

_"I will take it." She looked away in shock at the small voice that rose above the shouting, her eyes landing on the form of Frodo as he walked into the centre of the now silent circle; "I will take the ring to Mordor. Though... I do not know the way." He announced, looking around himself for guidance. She rose from her chair to see him better over the standing crowd, watching as Gandalf moved to his side, reassuring the Hobbit that he would help him on his journey._

_"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." She turned at the commanding sound of Aragorn's voice, watching as he stood and walked to kneel before Frodo. "You have my sword."_

_"And you have my bow." Legolas' voice quickly followed the man's as he moved to stand with them._

_"And my axe!" Gimli's broad accent cut through the silence as he marched determinedly to stand by the elf, the pair casting each other a wary look._

_Théadain bit her lip as she looked at the small party, her feet drawing her forward even before she had settled on a decision in her mind. The fate of Middle Earth relied on the success of this quest, she knew she must do everything in her power to ensure it did not fail._

_"Rohan stands with you, Frodo." She breathed, dropping to her knee before the bewildered Hobbit, and she could see him scanning her eyes for any trace of the aggression she had shown to Boromir earlier. She smiled gently to reassure him, taking his small nod as acceptance into the company. She rose, catching the sly wink the wizard cast her with a grin as she moved to stand beside his tall form. She watched as Boromir met her eyes and stepped forward to pledge his allegiance to the quest, and then was followed in turn by Samwise, and another two Hobbits whom – judging by Elrond's fond expression of exasperation – had not been expected to make an appearance. It was then Théadain had looked around herself at the nine that stood with her, all the other members of the council had returned to their seats. Four hobbits, two men, an elf, a dwarf and a wizard... And then herself._

_After Elrond had declared them 'The Fellowship of the Ring', she had watched the circle of chairs empty, as Gandalf had drawn the Hobbits aside to seemingly scold the three that had appeared, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and she turned to meet Boromir's tortured gaze._

_"Théadain, please let me speak with you, I must put this right." He breathed, his tone pleading as she took his hand._

_"Of course." She nodded, leading him a short distance from the Fellowship, beyond the circle of chairs and into the shelter of the trees to stand out of earshot, about to open her mouth to apologise when he managed to do so first._

_"I am beyond sorry Théadain, what I said- I don't know what came over me, my words were unforgiveable."_

_"As were mine." She breathed, catching his hands reassuringly, "Please forgive me Boromir, you know I truly do not think those things, you are my friend."_

_"Only if you can forgive me." He whispered, his eyes shining with tears of regret as she felt hers prickle with the same, "Your father is an honourable man, and you are a strong leader of your people, I- what I called you-"_

_"It is in the past." She reassured him, throwing her arms around his neck to hug him tightly, letting a tear slip free of her eye as he returned the embrace, "I know it was not you, it was the Ring, I felt it too. We are both frightened and anxious to protect our people, it took advantage of that."_

_"I could barely stop myself." He breathed into her shoulder, clinging to her tightly._

_"It's alright Boromir." She soothed, rubbing her hand over his back, "We just have to make sure we stay in control if we are travelling with it. Both of us."_

_He nodded as he pulled back to look at her, "I won't let it control me again. I won't hurt anyone else." He promised._

_She smiled reassuringly and nodded, drawing back to lead him back to the courtyard, catching Aragorn's gaze as he quickly looked away from where he had been watching them embrace._

_"He doesn't trust me." Boromir commented softly._

_"No, nor do you trust him." She retorted, quietly enough that they would not be heard, "But he is a good man, you both are. It will come with time."_

"The Fellowship of the Ring." Théadain murmured to herself as she rose from her reflection on the day to prepare for bed. Tomorrow, they would begin planning their journey, with the aim of leaving as soon as possible.

Part of her still questioned her decision to join the quest. She regretted not being able to consult her brother, and she hoped she could find some way to tell him that it would be some time before they saw each other again. Would he be angry with her for abandoning her people in favour of this journey to Mordor? No, she was certain that if he knew her reasoning, he would understand. They were setting off to save all Middle Earth, and Rohan was part of that.

She only hoped that their path might lead them through Edoras, so that she might see her family again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I really hope you're enjoying where the story is heading!
> 
> Please do leave a comment, I'd love to hear what you think! X


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Here Gandalf, let me show you." 

Days later, Théadain leaned over the wizard's shoulder where he sat at the large table in the brightly lit room, gazing down at a detailed map. Across the table, Aragorn sat smoking a long pipe, the sweet smell of smouldering leaf filling the air. She gently set her finger to the map, at the most Southern point of the Misty Mountains. "It will be the safest path, the Gap of Rohan rarely becomes impassable with snow, even in deep winter." She murmured, "Even if- as you estimate- we take a full hundred days to walk this far, from the Gap of Rohan to Edoras is ten days ride, so maybe twenty- or thirty-day's walk?" She guessed, moving her finger to hover over her city, "By the time we reach Edoras we will all be exhausted, we can rest, get fresh provisions, and strike out East for Mordor when we are ready - perhaps even with horses."

"No, not horses." The wizard shook his head, "Our best chances lie in secrecy, riders are too easily spotted." 

"Very well, no horses." She sighed, moving to sit at his side, catching a glimmer of amusement crossing Aragorn's features, "But Edoras, Gandalf, do you think it is reasonable?"

"It is a possibility." He nodded, laying his own finger on the map, "But we would pass very close to Isengard. I would have to be certain that Saruman was not looking for us... Even then." He looked up into the tawny eyes of the young woman, "The White Wizard may well be present in the Golden Hall, through your father." 

She swallowed thickly and nodded, "I know. I just... I had hoped perhaps if you were there, you may be able to help him." She whispered, revealing her other motivation for guiding the Fellowship through Edoras. 

"You see how that could endanger our quest, don't you, Théadain?" The wizard reasoned as kindly as he could, laying his hand on hers as she nodded slowly.

"There are other strongholds in Rohan that we could reach." Aragorn leaned across the table to look at the map, hoping to lift her spirits with the suggestion, "Helm's Deep is closer to the Gap of Rohan." 

"We would be safe there." Théadain nodded, looking up to smile in thanks at the man for his suggestion, "And I could get word to my brother, he would support us in any way we ask."

"It all depends." Gandalf murmured, sitting back to light his own pipe, "Do not pin all of your hopes on reaching Rohan this way, Théadain, there may be less direct paths that take you home."

She nodded and stood again as Elrond entered the room from the open promenade that ran alongside it; "Excuse me gentlemen, Legolas was going to assist me with arrangements for my horse." She bobbed a small bow before turning to go.

Gandalf waited for her footfalls to die away before looking to Aragorn, "You should not encourage her, you know it would not be wise for us to draw attention to the Fellowship."

"I am aware." Aragorn murmured, letting a curl of smoke drift from his lips as he looked to the map again, "But you cannot deny she is right, the Gap of Rohan is the safest road- what other choices do we have? Go over the Mountains in the dead of winter? Or pass through Moria?" 

"No." Gandalf and Elrond both muttered the word at the same time, the elf-lord stepping closer to the table to join the conversation, "Gandalf, you and I both know that nothing has been heard from Moria in years. You know the dwarves awakened something terrible."

"I would only go if we had no other choice, but it will not come to that." The wizard murmured confidently as he watched Aragorn stand and move to the open walkway, looking down to the courtyard below. The Mirkwood elves that had accompanied Legolas were preparing to return, and he watched as Théadain led a dark bay stallion to join them.

"Legolas!" She called, smiling as the prince turned to greet her.

"Théadain, this must be your Folca?" He smiled, reaching up to gently rub the horse's ear, earning himself a whinny of appreciation.

"It is." She cooed, rubbing the horse affectionately, "It will break my heart to be parted from him, but if your companions are willing to pass by The Wold on their way home... If they turn him loose there he will find his way home on his own, it is the best way to return him to Edoras." She bit her lip as she gently straightened his bridle, "I will need him there when I find my own way back."

"Of course." Legolas nodded as his companions mounted, looking down and seeing the folded parchment in her hand, sealed with wax, "A letter?"

"For my brother." She nodded, looking down as if she had just remembered it and moving to carefully tuck it in to one of Folca's saddlebags, "I can only hope he finds it."

"He will." Legolas reassured gently, taking the reins from her, "But you should say farewell for now."

She sighed and nodded, gently wrapping her arms around Folca's sturdy neck, "Be safe my friend, forgive me for not bringing you with us." She whispered regretfully, "Gandalf is only permitting a pony, but I will be back with you as soon as I am able. Find your way to Théodred, he will look after you." She bit her lip and pulled back, laying a soft kiss on the white star in the centre of his forehead; "Go well, Folca."

She stepped back as Legolas handed the reins to his kinsman, bidding them a fond farewell in their own tongue before they turned and trotted through the archway that led to the world beyond the valley. She was glad when Legolas wrapped his arm around her shoulders comfortingly.

"It is a curious bond, one that I have never fully understood." He murmured gently, "The people of Rohan and their horses..."

"It is." She whispered, watching Folca's swishing tail disappear down the path, "No other race that I have met values their animals like we do- but they deserve it, they are intelligent, and they feel as keenly as we do. I have seen horses mourn their fallen riders with the devotion of a child mourning their parent." 

"He will find his way home for you." The elf reassured her, "He will be waiting." 

"I know, thank you Legolas." She nodded, casting one last glance to the path as she let him lead her from the courtyard. 

*

Two weeks were spent in preparation for the Fellowship's journey. In Théadain's eyes the time could not pass quickly enough, without Folca to ride she had turned to running in the forest every morning, trying to improve her endurance on foot. She had never travelled so far under her own power, and she did not want to slow any of the Fellowship down. It was a relief, to be able to push her body and return to bed exhausted each night, it spared her from thinking too long of home. Lord Elrond had also tasked her with preparing the Hobbits; she had assumed he had meant teaching them to survive in the wild, but she quickly found they had already experienced it on their journey to Rivendell and were very quick to learn what they could and couldn't eat - particularly the pair Merry and Pippin. Her fondness for the four Halflings had only grown when Frodo had suggested she teach them some skills in combat. It had not taken them long to tell her of their misadventures on Weathertop with the Black Riders, and how Aragorn had saved them.

"Do you think I could wield a sword and a flaming torch at the same time soon?" Pippin grinned playfully at her as she tried to teach him a block. It was their final day before they departed, and they were trying to squeeze in a last session before dinner.

"Not if you keep getting distracted, Peregrin!" She laughed, light-heartedly swiping at his legs with her wooden sword to make him jump away. When she had begun training them, she had to remind herself once or twice not to scold them like the children she taught back in Edoras, despite their stature, the Hobbits were still full-grown. 

"Highly unprofessional, Pip." Merry grinned, trying to twirl the sword in his fingers but fumbling it.

"Looking at you pair anyone would think I'd spent the last two weeks teaching you nothing." Théa laughed, looking to where Frodo and Sam were carefully working through the blocks she had taught them on the far side of the training clearing. 

"With any luck they will not need to use those skills." A low rumble behind her made her turn with a smile.

"Better to be over-prepared than under." She grinned at Aragorn, twirling the wooden sword in her hands in a much more impressive display than Merry's. 

"I was sent to fetch you for dinner, we are all gathering for the last evening." He raised an eyebrow at her swordplay.

"Won't you show us how it should be done first?" Pippin smiled as he looked between them, his eyes dancing mischievously as he pressed his short sword into Aragorn's hand.

"And delay dinner?" Théadain laughed in surprise as she watched Aragorn swing the sword experimentally, before making sure to twirl it through his fingers to copy her motions.

"Five minutes." Merry grinned as he appeared at Pippin's side, having led Frodo and Sam over. 

"Two." Aragorn chuckled, his eyes landing on his opponent as she laughed, unsure if he was really going to take the spar seriously. She had called on Boromir to help her show the Hobbits a fight earlier in the week, but it had been playful, and had ended with them rolling in the dust in an attempt to pin each other. 

"If you insist." She smiled, taking an experimental swing at him which he blocked with ease, even with the shorter sword, "Do you mind the disadvantage?" She hummed, locking eyes with him over the crossed swords.

"Disadvantage?" He frowned, feigning confusion as he laid his free hand on his blade to force her back, instantly following with a series of quick blows. He could admit that he was impressed by her quick, efficient blocks, though he was certain she was not putting her full effort in.

"Well if not the sword then surely your age must be a disadvantage..." She grinned teasingly as she ducked the heavy blow that followed her words, moving to strike his side but he leapt back. "Watch his feet, Pippin." She coached as she met a downward strike aimed at her shoulder, pushing Aragorn back and laying another blow to his sword, "Always moving, if he stayed still I could strike him easily-" She danced away from a jab and grinned, "And when he strikes at me he is still moving, so I cannot easily predict where he will attack next." She paused to feint to one side, managing to lay a light blow to Aragorn's thigh, "There, now my enemy is wounded." She grinned, lightly jogging back a few paces as Aragorn chuckled, shaking his head at her. "Any blow you can land will slow your opponent down, it will give one of us the chance to reach you in an attack." She turned to remind the Hobbits, gasping as Aragorn's arm circled her throat and the tip of his sword pressed to her jaw.

"And do not turn your back on your enemy, even if they are wounded." He purred, his warm breath caressing her ear as he held her firmly to his chest. Had she not firmly coached herself to not react to his presence, her knees might have given way. She would give no man the satisfaction of knowing they had any influence over her - nor was she happy to let any man best her in a fight. She dropped her sword with a grimace, raising her hands in defeat.

"Another valid lesson." She huffed, her shoulders slumping as he released her. She cast a playful glare back at his self-satisfied expression as she bent to gather her discarded sword, "Next time I'll know better - come gentlemen, dinner awaits." She shooed the Hobbits ahead of her as she leaned their training swords against a tree. They would not have the safety of wood the next time they trained. 

*

Théadain hummed with contentment as she sat back in her chair, glancing around herself at the other members of the Fellowship as they finished their meal. There had been no ceremonial speeches or sense of occasion, this was simply ten companions enjoying a last evening of comfort before they set out into the world beyond the Hidden Valley. Aragorn moved to rise first, bidding the company goodnight softly before he left the room. 

"Doesn't say too much that one." Gimli grumbled beside her, scraping the last remains of his meal from his plate.

"No, not yet." She smiled as she settled her elbows on the table, "Though we are all still learning each other's ways."

"Some of us showing more tolerance than others." Legolas murmured across the table, his eyes fixed on the dwarf whom he had exchanged wary comments with throughout the meal. They had been testing each other's boundaries, as if they were each certain that the other was aiming to deceive them. 

"He talks to you then, lass?" The dwarf chuckled, sitting back in his chair to look at her after casting a calculating glance at the elf after choosing to ignore his words.

"I can make everyone talk, Master Dwarf." She grinned, "Even you were doubtful of bringing a woman along on this quest when we first met, I could see you were reluctant to talk with me." She met Legolas' eyes with a playful smirk, "But I could not allow you to be denied the pleasure of my friendship." 

"Aye." He smiled, nodding in agreement, "You're made of sterner stuff than I thought, and I've seen you scrapping with the Halflings, you've a good way with them- and a sword." 

"I should like to think so." She hummed, her eyes flickering to the doorway as she noticed movement. She smiled as she saw Arwen hovering there, smiling at her meaningfully. Théa gave her a small nod and pushed her chair back to stand, "Forgive me for slipping away, gentlemen, but I must take care of a few things before we depart in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The quest is very nearly underway!
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment/kudos if you're enjoying! X


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter 15_ **

  
Hurrying to Arwen's side, Théadain smiled as she slipped her arm through her friend's one companionably, "I am glad you came, I was worried I would not see you before I left."

"I could not allow you to go in that way." The elf-maiden smiled warmly, leading them slowly to Théa's room, "And I could not let you go without a parting gift."

"Oh Arwen..." She scolded gently, tightening her hold on her friend's arm as they passed into the room, gasping at the beautiful coat laid out on her bed.

"Go, try it." Arwen laughed as she gently pushed the young woman forward to admire the garment. Théadain smiled in delight as she ran her fingers over the soft, supple doeskin suede, dyed a beautiful deep grey. The coat was deceptively thick, and lined for warmth in the winter months.

"Arwen it is beautiful, thank you." She breathed, turning to embrace her friend. The pair held each other tightly, neither willing to let go of the other, "You will not be here if I ever return, will you?" Théadain whispered after a long moment, drawing back a little.

"No, my friend." Arwen whispered regretfully, tears shining in her beautiful eyes, "It will not be long before I sail for the Undying Lands."

Théa nodded, biting her lip, "I understand, I just... I will miss you so terribly. It has been wonderful spending time with you again."

"You have your entire life ahead of you, Théadain, do not be sad when you have so much to look forward to."

"Do I?" She laughed sadly, "Part of me worries that this quest is a fool's errand, or even if we succeed, if the ten of us make it into the depths of Mordor without being killed, will we even make it back alive?"

"You will." She whispered with surety, cupping her friend's freckled cheek, "You must believe the quest will succeed, Théadain, you are strong enough to endure this darkness."

"I fear I am not." She admitted, slumping back to sit on her bed, "I am no great leader of men, I do not have Boromir's ambition, nor Aragorn's quiet strength – I say the wrong things, I am too headstrong and passionate... My world was small, and now I am part of something so much greater than I ever imagined."

"That is why you stand together." She soothed, sinking to sit by her side and taking her hand, "Perhaps the Fellowship needs someone passionate and headstrong."

Théadain laughed doubtfully and shook her head, "Sometimes I wonder if they think I am a fool, or a fraud."

"They admire you." Arwen insisted, pausing as she considered whether she should elaborate further. She had witnessed several times the way Aragorn watched her friend, the way his eyes followed her when she walked. At first she had told herself it was merely curiosity, but she had come to recognise that he was fond of the redheaded girl, if not more.

Recognising her friend's hesitation, Théadain lifted her head to look at her seriously, watching her expression carefully as she decided that now was as good a time as any to confirm the suspicion that had been growing in her. "The man you loved, it was Aragorn, wasn't it?" She murmured cautiously, seeing Arwen's eyes widen in shock at the way she had been seen though.

"He told you of us?"

"No! No- I merely guessed." She reassured with a smile, squeezing her hands, "I've seen the way he looks at you when you pass each other, and knowing his age and history here... I put it together." She shrugged.

"I think you watch him as closely as I do." Arwen smiled fondly, looking down at their hands, as Théadain blushed at her words, "Yes, he was, but you know that part of my life is over. My heart does not belong to him, nor his to me."

"Then he is a fool. Perhaps you both are." Théadain smiled teasingly, "Your children would have been _beautiful_ -"

The pair descended into easy laughter as Arwen playfully bumped her friend's shoulder with her own to cut off her words, smiling affectionately at the young mortal; "He will find someone better suited to him than I." She murmured confidently.

"I think I already fear the woman who will rule as his queen." Théa laughed, "She will be formidable."

Arwen bit back a laugh at her words, smiling as she moved to rest her head on her friend's shoulder; "Promise you will look after him on your journey?" She whispered, taking on a more serious tone, "I know he fears the path ahead of him, he will need his companions to give him the strength to follow it."

"I will." Théadain promised gently, wrapping an arm around Arwen's shoulders to hold her friend close as the evening began to grow dark around them.

*

The next morning, dawn broke over Rivendell quietly, as if it was reluctant to break the stillness of the night that had passed. It felt to Théadain that the world was holding its breath as she stepped down into the courtyard they were to depart from.

After Arwen had left her the night before, she had spent a last evening of luxury bathing, washing her hair, laying out her clothing and finally crawling into the last soft bed she would know for months. Before the sun had even fully risen, she had dressed carefully in her protective leathers, slipping Arwen's coat over her jerkin and shirt. The heavy winter cloak that Théodred had draped over her shoulders before she had left Edoras was safely folded in her pack.

Venturing from her room, she had been sure to spend a few moments sat in the courtyard she had visited often with her father, trying to draw on comforting memories that she could carry with her on the journey. She was sure her father would approve of her choices, he would not want her to question herself the way she had last night, and so she tried to leave her self-doubt there, on that stone bench.

Now she was ready.

She smiled as she walked over to where Sam was standing holding the bridle of a scruffy chestnut pony, laden with bedrolls and provisions already.

"And who is this fine fellow?" She smiled, offering the pony her hand to sniff.

"This is Bill, Miss Théadain." Sam smiled, petting the pony affectionately, "We bought him in Bree, I don't believe he was well treated there. He seems fond of Rivendell's stables."

"He seems fond of _you_." She smiled, seeing the way the pony nickered contentedly under the Hobbit's hand. As Sam went on to explain how they had come to travel with the pony, they were slowly joined by the other members of the Fellowship, along with a number of elves that had come to watch them depart. Unconsciously, her eyes sought the tall figure of Aragorn as she heard him softly conversing with Gandalf while they walked to stand by the stone archway. She had to stop herself looking twice as she took in his appearance – gone were the clean-cut, fine fabrics that he had worn during their weeks spent amongst the elves. Before her now stood a Ranger, a man of the wild, rugged and earthy. Dark, weather-worn leather and linen now clad his strong form, at his hip hung a long sword and on his back he carried his quiver and bow. She dragged her eyes away reluctantly, swallowing against her mysteriously dry throat. There was just _something_ about his dishevelled yet quietly capable appearance that stirred something within her, made her stomach tighten and flip at the sight of him. It wasn't fair, she thought, that after she had told herself so firmly that she was _not_ permitted to be attracted to a man she would be working closely with, that he should be able to change the game by looking like _that._

She was relieved that her intrusive thoughts were interrupted as Frodo moved to stand at his friend's side, and Théadain did not miss the way the Hobbit's hand moved to press against his chest, where she knew the Ring hung securely on a chain. Smiling reassuringly at the anxious-looking Ringbearer, she turned to look back, to take in the beauty of Rivendell once more, and likely for the last time, she thought.

Across the courtyard, she met Arwen's eyes and smiled, leaving her small pack on the ground by the pony as she broke from the Fellowship's ranks to hurry to her. Flanked by her two brothers, the elf-maiden smiled sadly as her mortal friend paused to embrace Elrohir and Elladan in turn, murmuring soft farewells, before she threw her arms around Arwen's neck and hugged the elf tightly.

"Be safe, my friend." Arwen whispered as she hugged her securely.

"And you, Arwen." She breathed, drawing back to smile reassuringly at her, "I hope you find everything you are searching for."

"I hope the same for you." The elf smiled tearfully, leaning in to lay a soft parting kiss on her friend's brow, "Go now, it is time." She whispered, seeing Théadain's tawny eyes shining with unshed tears as she nodded and stepped away to join her companions.

She did not see the way Aragorn's eyes had followed their interaction, nor how they traced her steps to his side, where she finally released a trembling breath as she shouldered her pack and raised her head. She watched as Lord Elrond stepped forward to address them, his eyes landing on each member of the Fellowship in turn.

"The Ringbearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom." He began, focusing on Frodo with a reassuring smile, before looking to the others, "On you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will."

Théadain may have imagined the way the elf-lord's eyes lingered on her with those words, as if he almost imagined she would break from the quest in favour of returning to Edoras. In truth, if she was presented with such a choice, she could not predict what path she would take.

"Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you." Elrond murmured, a small nod of his head and a gesture of his hand granting them consent to leave and strike out on their road.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer." Gandalf announced softly behind her, and she stepped back a little as Frodo turned, allowing him to pass through his companions and be the first to leave through the high stone archway. As her companions turned to follow, she took one final glance back at Arwen and her brothers, offering her friends a parting smile before she followed Boromir's steps out into the world beyond the safety of the Last Homely House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the quest begins! Don't forget to leave a comment, I can't wait to hear what you lovely readers think! X


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter 16** _

  
Those first weeks of walking challenged Théadain's body in ways it had never been challenged before. Her legs ached, long days of trekking over uneven terrain left her calf muscles screaming at the end of each day, and even more stiff the next when she awoke after a night on hard ground. It might not have been so bad had Gandalf allowed them to follow the roads, but she understood his reasoning. They could not afford to be seen by any that may report to the enemy, and it was reported that all roads now crawled with spies and orcs.

She was careful not to complain though. A lifetime spent fighting to prove herself an equal to the men that surrounded her saw to that. Showing weakness had never earned anyone respect, she had learned that very early on in her training. Yet, she had not yet felt any doubt in her capabilities from her companions. It was as if their esteem for one-another came freely, though some were still wary of the personalities of others, they all respected each other. She could see it between Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn and Boromir; there was a wariness there, they trusted each other as soldiers trust one another – they followed the same path, they were driven to complete the same task and they would protect each other for the sake of their mission, but friendship? That was yet to come.

Théadain however seemed to have wormed her way into their affections, though she had not initially set out to. She did not count feminine instinct as one of her strongest qualities, but amongst this small group of men she could not help but seek to remedy the endless issues that men often ignored. She would scold them fondly when she insisted upon washing scrapes, encourage them to make use of an extra layer when the nights got cold, make sure they left their boots to dry at night so they did not suffer blisters the next day – in her mind it was merely good sense, yet in theirs they could see why she was valued as a leader by her men. She cared, perhaps so much that she often forgot her own needs.

Another day of walking had passed uneventfully. As they walked in single-file, with Gandalf at the head and Aragorn at the rear of the party, there was rarely opportunity to speak with the other members of the Fellowship. It was only when they stopped to make camp that they would talk freely again, an easy camaraderie emerging as they went about the business of setting fires and preparing food. It was on the edge of a small fir woodland that Aragorn agreed with Gandalf's suggestion to settle for the evening; a number of smooth boulders and a small rushing river providing sufficient shelter and fresh water, whilst the forest held the promise of food to forage and hunt for. Over the weeks Théadain had felt the ground rising in her legs as much as she could see it with her eyes. The Misty Mountains drew nearer by the day, and as they traversed the changing landscape she was treated to the most breathtakingly beautiful scenery – the likes of which they would never have seen from the road. Ruins, valleys, cascading waterfalls, ancient formations of rock moulded by time and weather; sights potentially unseen by anything other than birds and animals for hundred of years. Despite her aches, Théadain truly enjoyed her time spent walking; there was something immensely freeing about setting out each morning, her only thoughts focused on placing one foot in front of the other and staying alert to any potential threat. It meant she had little energy left to spend thinking about Rohan and her family, and even less energy to spend thinking about the dark-haired Ranger that walked several paces behind her.

Casting her eye critically over their camp for the night, she pointed out a spot sheltered by boulders that would be a good place for Sam to start a fire.

"Will I see what rations need using, Miss Théa?" He smiled as she helped him unload the packs and bedrolls that Bill carried.

"Let us see what we can gather from the woods first, we'll not have the luxury closer to the mountains. The hunting won't be good until we pass through the Gap of Rohan." She reasoned, tossing her bedroll down to claim a flat, sheltered spot for the night. Her eyes lingered on it longingly for a moment, but she turned away, telling herself that she could rest after they had settled with some food. Scratching Bill's ear absently, she glanced around herself as the members of the Fellowship began to spread themselves over the camp. Boromir smiled warmly at her as he laid his bedroll down beside hers.

"You look tired, Théa." He commented softly, seeing the faraway look in her eyes that told him her mind wasn't truly focused on making camp.

"I am, but so is everyone." She replied patiently, patting the pony and moving to remove his saddle and bridle, a gentle nudge to his chestnut flank permitting him to wander and graze. "Pippin, do you remember the snare I showed you?" She called softly to the Hobbit as he sat on a small boulder, rubbing his feet with a grimace.

"I think so." He nodded, grunting softly as he stood from the rock to rummage in his pack.

With the Hobbit at her side, she led him into the copse of trees, trying to make her footfalls as light as possible so they did not disturb any animals. Selecting an area where brambles grew densely around the roots of a tree, she dropped to a crouch to help Pippin set the snare.

"How are your feet?" She smiled gently, her hands guiding his as he fumbled a knot.

"Not so bad." He reassured, his cheerful disposition helping to lift her tired spirits.

"And the others? Frodo?" She asked, "I know our pace is fast."

"We're alright. Frodo gets tired quickly now though." His face clouded with a small frown as he focused on his hands, "I think the Ring... It's like its heavy. Weighing on him."

A soft footstep behind them made Théadain turn, her hand unconsciously resting on the pommel of the sword at her hip, but she relaxed as Aragorn dropped to one knee beside her, casting his eye over the snare Pippin had set.

"You shouldn't discuss the Ring so loudly." He advised the Hobbit softly, his voice low as he brushed some fallen leaves to cover the snare.

"Who is around to hear, besides those we can trust?" Théa raised an eyebrow as she helped Pippin to his feet, a hand on the Hobbit's shoulder reassuring him that he had done nothing wrong, soothing away his worried expression.

"Not all the birds are to be trusted." The Ranger murmured as he stood, casting a wary eye over the trees.

" _Crebain?_ " She whispered sceptically, "You have seen them?"

"No, but we cannot be too careful." With a small nod of his head, he strode further into the trees, leaving her to watch him go in bewilderment.

"Go on Pippin, get Merry and see if you can find any berries. We can check the snare later." She prompted, smiling reassuringly at her friend as he nodded and padded off back to the camp. She could not help but listen more closely to the calls of the birds around them now, but she could not hear the distinct caw of any corvid. Shaking her head, she strode back to the camp, diverting past the boulders to the small river and bending to fill her skin of water. The river was cold, freezing even – the water must come down from the mountains. Splashing a little onto her face she shivered, but it helped clear her tired mind, and she knew it would soothe her aching feet if she could just bring herself to plunge them into the icy rush.

With a somewhat reluctant groan, she tugged her boots off, laying her coat down as she rolled her breeches to the knee and stepped into the shallow water that came to her shin. A gasp rushed from her body at the chill, but it was invigorating, and after a few moments she could no longer feel the soles of her feet complaining. The currant tugged at her legs, as if trying to pull her away with it, but it only held power over the small pebbles that tumbled in its flow. Her eyes followed the water mindlessly, before catching sight of a flash of silver hiding in the shadow of the riverbank.

"Hello..." She breathed as she caught sight of the large trout, lazily suspended in the flow of the river by slow swishes of its tail. Carefully, she bent to dip one hand into the cool water, her movements controlled so as not to startle the fish.

 _"Quiet now, let him come to you."_ The voice of a man she had not thought of in a long time echoed in her mind, catching her off-guard, but not enough to frighten her prey; _"It's a slow game, Th_ _éa, but it's worth the catch."_

Biting her lip, she let her fingers waft in the water's currant, coaxing the fish in as it drifted closer. She was now bent so low that her hair trailed in the water, darkening and streaming out like fire as the river toyed with it. The water soaked up the sleeves of her shirt, making it cling to her skin, but she didn't notice as her fingertips brushed smooth scales, gently tickling the underbelly of the trout.

Now she had him.

She smiled as the fish tensed a little at her first touch, and then relaxed, lulled into a trace by the gentle stroking of her fingers.

_"You'll feel when it's time, but you have to be quick now..."_

With a sudden flick of her wrist, the fish was out of the water, landing with a wet 'flap' on the riverbank. She laughed in surprise at herself, quickly moving to crack its head on the rock rather than let the creature suffocate on the dry land. It was larger than it had seemed in the water, not enough to fill the bellies of ten walkers, but it was something.

Leaving her discarded clothing at the side of the river, she padded back to the camp, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake.

"Where did you get that?" Boromir laughed as she slapped the fish down on a rock by Sam's fire with a victorious grin. The man looked the woman up and down in amusement as she stood dripping, barefoot and bedraggled. Her hair and clothes were soaked, her shirt clinging to the curves of her waist were the water had seeped in – he was careful to divert his eyes from where the fabric clung to other curves.

"Tickled it." She smirked, wringing out her hair as she moved to sit beside him on a stone.

"Tickled?" Gimli's incredulous tone made her laugh as he looked up from where he carefully polished his axe. Around her the other walkers had begun to gather loosely around the fire, Legolas perched on a taller boulder, his gift of elven eyesight helping him serve as a lookout as the others relaxed, the Hobbits huddled near Gandalf, helping Sam prepare the beginnings of their evening meal, and a few paces away at the edge of the trees, she could see Aragorn engrossed in sharpening his hunting knife. "Where'd you learn to do a thing like that, lass?"

The dwarf's question pulled her from her observation of her companions, her smile growing at the memory of the day she learned; "My mentor, Fenmer. After my father gave me his blessing to train as a Rider, Fenmer taught me everything I needed to know." She explained fondly, "He had ridden with my uncle, Éomund, and was like an uncle to me himself. When I first joined a company, he rode by my side and guided me." Her smile faltered a little as she unconsciously settled her gaze to the South, in the direction of the Gap of Rohan; "He was the first man I ever saw die."

She had not meant to say it, Boromir could see that in the way she frowned at her own words. Laying a comforting hand on her damp shoulder, he squeezed gently. "I'm sorry, Théa."

"As am I." She smiled sadly up at her friend, "It wasn't fair, he deserved to die old in his bed, surrounded by his wife and son. Instead the last thing he knew was his horse crushing him and my wailing. It wasn't even a noble death in battle, just a terrible accident." She remembered that day well, it had been a regular patrol. One moment she had been joking with her mentor and the next his horse had stumbled, an awful, frightened squeal ripping from the creature as it caught its leg in a rabbit hole and fell, bringing its rider down with it. Fenmer had taught her everything her father couldn't, he had taught her how the men of Rohan thought and lived, what their hopes and dreams were and what strength they could admire. His easy humour had helped her overcome the initial mockery she had faced when she had joined the ranks of a company, helped her bat away the bawdy comments of men with laughter of her own. He had taught her that if she was to lead, she must be ready to lay down her life for any man in her company, and in exchange they would do the same. The Riders of Rohan would not respect a Marshal that led with aggression and commanded fear, they admired strength and compassion, and a shared love for their land. His death had nearly destroyed her, she had almost given up on her military career that day, but she knew he wouldn't have wanted that for her.

"His son rides in my company now, Fenmund." She murmured, realising she had sat too long in silence with the eyes of the Fellowship on her, "I mentored him through his training, it was the only way I could repay all his father did for me." She smiled weakly at Boromir, reaching to squeeze the hand on her shoulder reassuringly. She stood, mumbling something about going to dry off as she walked back to the river to collect her boots and coat. She sank to sit on the ground, tugging her boots on as she absently watched the sun beginning to sink below the distant horizon, her mind still focused on the events of years past. So focused, that she was startled as a blanket was gently draped around her shoulders.

"He would be proud of you." She turned to look behind her at the soft rumble in her ear, as a pair of hands momentarily rested on her shoulders to press the blanket to her. By the time she had turned, Aragorn was already walking back to the fire, settling himself down beside Legolas and moving to light his pipe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment/kudos!  
> And if you'd like to read more about Théa's early adventures and her time with her mentor, I've written a short prequel to this story titled 'The Horse and the Rider' which I'll be publishing once this one is fully posted! X


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter 17** _

Nearly a month passed without incident as the Fellowship continued their long walk South. As the weather had taken an unseasonably mild turn, everyone seemed to be in high spirits; their bodies were used to the routine of walking now, and it was growing easier to set their feet back to their path each morning.

It was one late afternoon they decided to make camp early, seeing that the hills they traversed were more exposed ahead of them, it made sense to take shelter where they could find it. Théadain was glad to take an extra few hours off her feet, and she could admit her heart was growing lighter as they inched ever closer to the Gap of Rohan. Within weeks they would reach her lands, and though she was under no illusion that she would find everything well in her home, it would be a relief to see her family again.

 _'It would also be a relief to speak to another woman again.'_ She thought with a roll of her eyes as she picked up a pebble and threw it at Boromir's back as he moved to relieve himself a few metres away; "I can see you Boromir- find somewhere else to piss." She called as the stone bounced off his shoulder.

"You shouldn't be looking!" He retorted as he went to find a spot out of sight as she laughed and lay back on the pale shelf of rock she had been sitting on.

"If I can train over a hundred men to not expose themselves to me then I can train you." She grinned, stretching like a cat in the sun as Legolas moved to sit beside her with a chuckle.

"I doubt you share such close quarters with the men in your company though." The elf commented as she threw her arm over her face to shield it from the sun.

"Oh I do, we don't stand on ceremony." She hummed, propping herself up on her elbow to talk to him better, "On summer patrols we'll sleep in the open air, side by side – it's rare that I would have my own tent. I do however insist on basic manners." She smiled playfully as Boromir came back in to view, casting her a playful glare as he went to sit with Merry and Pippin. Behind her the scent of frying sausages reached her nostrils where Sam was preparing their meal, mingled with the smell of burning leaf from Aragorn and Gandalf's pipes.

"It's a wonder your father allows you to venture out with so many men." Gimli commented, "With you being unwed, lass."

"Are you afraid for my honour, Master Dwarf?" She smiled playfully, "The men in my company are like my family, if I do not see them as a brother I see them as a father figure – my own father knows I am safe, and I know well enough that my honour has nothing to do with whose bed my boots are under." She smirked a little at the choked sound the dwarf made in response to her comment. "My father might, however, have something to say about me gallivanting around the wilderness with nine handsome unmarried men." She grinned, leaning into Legolas' shoulder as the elf laughed.

"Perhaps he should be worried _for_ the men." Legolas chuckled, nudging her playfully.

"Your honour is quite safe, my elvish prince." She smirked, bumping him back, "I like my men a little more rough around the edges."

"Have you ever considered the hand of a Hobbit, my Lady?" Merry grinned at her, clapping his hand to his chest as he waggled his eyebrows flirtatiously.

"Oh Merry." She laughed, hopping down from her rock to walk over and take his hands, "That is possibly the most tempting proposal I have ever received." She grinned as he playfully kissed the back of her hand.

"You've received many?" Gimli chuckled as she let Merry pull her to sit by his side and throw his arm around her shoulders.

"A lady never tells." She smiled knowingly, winking at Merry conspiratorially.

"I had a thought to ask you, once." Boromir murmured behind her, making her turn abruptly. She was not the only one surprised by his words, and her cheeks burned a little as she suddenly felt that all eyes were on her.

"To marry you?" She frowned, shifting to look at him properly.

"When I was a younger man, yes." He nodded, shrugging his shoulders a little; "If my father had allowed it, I would have asked you."

She laughed softly and shook her head at the thought, remembering that she had indeed found the son of the Steward handsome when they had first met; "We would have killed each other, Boromir."

"I know." He grinned, "And I don't think you would have said yes."

"No, as dearly as I love you my friend, my love for Rohan was greater still." She agreed, feeling Merry leap up beside her and draw his short sword.

"I'll challenge you for the Lady's hand, good sir." The Hobbit grinned as Boromir laughed loudly.

"As you wish, Master Meriadoc." He chuckled, standing to draw his own sword as Théadain covered her face in mock-embarrassment.

"I do not accept these terms and wash my hands of the both of you." She laughed, slipping off her rock to get out of the way as Pippin ran to join his friend.

"C'mon Merry, we can both take him!"

Théadain shook her head despairingly as the three began play fighting behind her, moving to perch beside Aragorn and starting to absently braid her hair as they watched the spar. She could feel his eyes on her as she combed a tangle from her hair with her fingers, turning to answer his gaze with a questioning one of her own.

"If you are about to ask for my hand as well then you had best prepare to face my other suitors." She smiled playfully, seeing his lips quirk into a smile around the stem of his pipe.

"No, you do not need another to choose from." He chuckled, his eyes turning back to where Boromir was now coaching Merry and Pippin.

"I do not wish for _any_ to choose from." She laughed, shrugging off her coat and rolling up her shirt sleeves as her body warmed in the sun, "Of all the things I have sought from life, to be reduced to the role of a _wife_..." She shook her head, leaning her elbows on her knees; "No, I do not think I would be suited to it."

"Not even if it meant being Stewardess of Gondor?" He raised a questioning eyebrow and she grimaced.

"Can you truly picture me in Minas Tirith? In their tall, white buildings with clean marble floors?" She held out her grubby palms to demonstrate her point; "And as I said to Boromir, we would kill each other before we made it through our first year as husband and wife."

Aragorn said nothing, only nodding as he turned back to watching the Hobbits as they lightly knocked blades with Boromir. He had known that Théadain and the man of Gondor had met before, and that they were close friends, he had not realised that they had been _so_ close. It seemed it had surprised her, Boromir's confession; the young Shieldmaiden so often had a quick word or joke to reply with, but in that moment she had been speechless. He frowned a little as he considered why he had bristled at Boromir's words. It was not only that he did not yet fully trust the man, it had been a surge of protectiveness towards the woman at his side. He chewed the end of his pipe thoughtfully as he watched Pippin block a swipe from the Gondorian.

"Move your feet." He called to the Hobbits, feeling Théadain sit up beside him as Boromir nicked Pippin's knuckles with his blade, earning a small yelp of pain as he flicked his hand. Though the man moved to apologise quickly, his face anxious, he was swiftly set upon by the two Hobbits with a cry of 'For the Shire!' as they threw down their swords. Aragorn smiled fondly as he heard Théa laugh beside him, standing as the Hobbits wrestled Boromir onto his back. "Gentlemen, that's enough."

Théa only laughed harder as she watched Aragorn attempt to lift the Hobbits off her friend, only to have his legs swept out from under him. She watched the four tousle on the ground with an affectionate smile, though she looked away as she heard Sam's voice rise above the playful shouts.

"What is that?"

She frowned and rose to her feet to look South at the dark mass in the distant sky, hearing Gimli dismiss it as cloud as the others behind her quietened.

"It's moving fast, and against the wind." Boromir commented, his voice serious now as Théadain squinted at the mass.

"It's a flock." She breathed.

" _Crebain_ from Dunland!" Legolas exclaimed as his keen eyesight was able to identify the birds. Théa felt her heart leap into her throat as Aragorn yelled for the company to hide. She scrambled to gather her possessions, tossing them into the sparse greenery that surrounded them as Sam rushed to put out their fire.

"Théa-" Aragorn reached to grab her wrist and pull her towards a shelf of rock that Frodo had already thrown himself under, but she had caught sight of Pippin frantically looking for a hiding place as the rest of the Fellowship seemed to vanish. She jerked her wrist free and quickly slipped one arm under the Hobbit's, wrapping it securely around his chest as she lifted him off his feet and threw them both down under Aragorn's rock, landing heavily against the stone with a soft grunt.

"Shhh..." She breathed soothingly to Pippin as she held him tight, feeling his body tense as the sound of wingbeats and birdcalls grew close. She felt Aragorn press to her side as he sheltered beside them, his heavy breathing warm on her neck as she tried to calm her own.

In a flurry of black feathers and harsh calls, the _crebain_ set upon their camp. The flock must have been near two hundred strong, and the birds swooped low over the rocks and bushes, as if they were deliberately searching for them. Théadain held Pippin tighter as she shrank back from the creatures, certain one would see them.

If they were spotted, the birds showed no signs of moving to attack as they wheeled away into the sky after a few moments. She knew it was likely the Fellowship's presence would have been detected, the still-smouldering fire and disturbed ground would be enough of a clue. A gentle touch to her shoulder from Aragorn let her know that it was alright to move, and slowly each member of the Fellowship ducked out from their hiding places, emerging back into the open air.

"Spies of Saruman." Gandalf spat as his eyes followed the flock as it retreated, "Our passage South is being watched."

"No..." Théadain breathed, dashing to stand on a higher rock to watch the birds. Gandalf was not mistaken, they returned in the direction they had come from, South. Isengard lay in that direction, as did the Gap of Rohan.

"We must take the Pass of Caradhras." The wizard muttered, and she regretfully turned to look up at the snow-capped mountain that loomed over their foothills. She knew the Redhorn Pass was famously treacherous, most travellers would seek other routes, and none would dare brave it in the depths of Winter.

"Gandalf no-" She pleaded, turning to look at the wizard, "Please, perhaps there are ways we could slip through the Gap of Rohan unnoticed."

"I am sorry, Théadain." He murmured gently as she stepped down from her rock to walk to him, "But I will not risk the Ring falling into the enemy's hands. You know this is the right thing to do."

She swallowed thickly and nodded, her eyes returning to the mountain, "It will be a difficult road, Gandalf." She warned softly, "We will have to be quick, the days will only grow colder."

"We will do all we can." He nodded, turning to address the rest of the Fellowship, "Rest now, the spies will not return tonight, we will need to strike out tomorrow with all the strength we can muster." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always!


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter 18** _

  
Théa had truly tried to smother her frustration and heartbreak at the news that the Fellowship's path would no longer take them through Rohan. It was difficult to maintain a cheerful composure though, with thoughts of her homeland weighing on her mind whilst they trekked through the knee-deep snowdrifts that concealed the path to the Pass of Caradhras. She had spoken little since they had set off two mornings previously, afraid she would say something bitter and resentful about their alternate route as they walked. Despite the fact that she had now donned her heavy cloak and thick gloves, the cold still made her irritable. She had seen a similar frustration in Boromir as he walked. Their diversion around Rohan would mean it was unlikely they would pass through Gondor; something he had been hoping for since the Fellowship set off. Perhaps it was his frustration that explained his behaviour earlier that day.

When Frodo had slipped in the snow, she had been walking ahead of him. It was only at Aragorn's cry of the Hobbit's name that she had turned to see him being lifted by the Ranger and carefully brushed down. The look of wild panic in his eyes had been unmistakeable as his hand had unconsciously sought the ring and not found it, though he had quickly calmed when he seemed to spot it laying in the snow drift where he had fallen.

Théadain had tensed as she watched Boromir move forward to lift the object from the snow, her skin prickling uncomfortably as she had kept her eyes fixed on his back which faced her. She could not hear what he said as he gazed at the ring, but she saw him flinch as Aragorn called his name harshly, jerking him from his trance.

"Give the Ring to Frodo."

She frowned at the way Aragorn reached for the hilt of his sword, gripping it tightly as Boromir had moved to hand the Ring over.

"Boromir." She breathed to break the moment of tension as the two men looked intensely at one another, her steps clumsy as she moved through the snow to the Gondorian's side, laying a gentle hand on his chest. He did not turn to look at her, though Aragorn's eyes drifted to her as she touched the other man; "Boromir." She whispered again, pressing her hand to him more firmly.

The moment passed, and her friend chuckled uncomfortably as he took a step away; "I care not." He reassured, moving to ruffle Frodo's hair before turning to stride back up through the snow to join their other companions. Théa's eyes pointedly landed on Aragorn's hand as he released his sword, deliberately letting him know she had seen the way he had reached for it.

"Let me take care of him." She soothed the man, offering Frodo her hand to help him back onto the rough path they had cut through the snow, "He listens to me; challenging him like that will only cause tension."

His cool grey eyes met hers and he nodded wordlessly, though she had detected a sense of conflict in his gaze as she had turned to follow Frodo back up the path.

The Fellowship walked long into the next day; as their altitude climbed, the weather worsened. The snow grew deeper to the point that the Hobbits could no longer struggle through it, so the taller members of the Fellowship carried them through the fierce snowstorm. The sky had grown so dark that they could no longer tell if it was day or night. At the head of the party, Gandalf cut through the snow with his staff, trying to open the path for those behind him, whilst Legolas was able to walk atop the snow with ease. His light elvish frame did not sink into the drifts under his weight, allowing him to scout ahead on the frozen path as they edged their way along a precipice. Behind the wizard, Boromir carried Merry in his arms, followed by Aragorn who held both Frodo and Sam. Théadain had taken Pippin, wrapping him protectively in her cloak as she battled through the flurries of snow, occasionally pausing to coax Bill the pony on from where Gimli led him behind her.

"Are you alright, Pip?" She gasped over the wind as she clutched him to her side with one arm, the other tugging down the hood of her cloak to try and protect her face from the stinging cold.

"M'alright..." He shivered quietly, tucking his head under her chin as she wrapped both arms around him. He was growing so cold; all the Hobbits were.

She flinched as she heard Gandalf yell something ahead of her, his words snatched away by the wind, though she thought she heard the name 'Saruman'. Above them she heard an almighty crack, and gasped as she pressed back against the mountain to dodge the icy boulders that tumbled from the peak.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn roared over the storm, turning to meet Théadain's worried gaze before looking back to the wizard, "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

She heard their leader refuse as he stepped to the edge of the precipice. She could hear another voice on the wind now, chanting words unfamiliar to her as Gandalf retaliated with words of his own. Her mind frantically tried to decipher what was happening as she watched – was Saruman casting some spell that was bringing the mountain down around them?

A bolt of lightning struck the peak of the mountain, and her stomach dropped at the crunching sound that followed. "Get back!" She yelled over the sound of the oncoming avalanche of snow, clutching Pippin to her body as she threw herself back against the rock wall in the hope that they would not be swept into the gorge below.

In an instant, the chaotic whirling of the wind was muzzled as her body was enveloped by snow. For a dreadful, crushing moment, the world was silent. She seemed to hang suspended in the snow, unable to move or breathe. Then she remembered the Hobbit in her arms.

With a grunt of effort, she pushed him upwards, hoping he would be able to break out into the air. A gasp of discomfort passing her lips as the disturbed snow slid down the back of her neck, chilling her to her core. She felt Pippin struggle as she thrashed her free arm to try and push herself upwards, hoping she was correct in guessing which way was up. Suddenly a hand grasped hers and she was jerked free of the snow, collapsing beside Pippin's gasping form as she looked up at Legolas gratefully. Glancing around, she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that everyone was alright, they had all emerged from the snow unharmed.

"We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the West Road to my city!" Boromir yelled as he gathered Merry to him.

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn argued over the howling wind.

"At least we wont freeze to death there!" Théadain snapped, wrapping Pippin's shivering form in her cloak, "Aragorn, the Hobbits won't last another night up here!"

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it!" Gimli suggested, "Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

Théadain watched the wizard anxiously, praying he would see that Rohan was their safest option. Surely risking attack above ground was preferable to being trapped in a mine? She grimaced as he allowed Frodo to choose to divert their path through the mines, but decided she did not have the energy to argue. They had already spent three days getting to this stage of the mountain, hopefully moving downwards would take less time.

"Turn back, we need to get out of the snow!" She called to Gimli, helping him turn the pony on the narrow path before moving to help Legolas clear their path downwards.

*

Retracing their steps back down the mountain was exhausting. They walked through the night, Théadain murmuring soft reassurances to Pippin as they walked. She did not set him down until they had left the worst of the snow behind them and his lips were no longer blue, even then it was only because she had begun to stagger under his weight and was afraid she would drop him.

She kept her head down as they moved to lower ground, spending nearly two days with her cloak drawn tightly around herself against the grey, mizzling rain that fell now that it was not cold enough to snow. Part of her desperately hoped that they would just walk past the mines and follow the mountains South to her homeland. She had heard enough rumours that Moria had been overrun with orcs long ago, but Gimli seemed certain that it was still a dwarf stronghold, and that they would be welcomed by his cousin. She truly hoped he was right.

Their provisions had begun to run low, and she had taken to sharing her rations with the Hobbits, who seemed to feel hunger more keenly than she did. The previous night she had only accepted an apple for her meal and had felt Aragorn's disapproving gaze on her as she had huddled in her cloak. If Gimli's hopes about Moria were correct, their stores of food would soon be replenished, but if not they needed enough to see them through the mines and out the other side. She was not willing to let the others go hungry if she could survive on less.

It was as their third day free of Caradhras drew towards evening, she was greeted by the sight of the walls of Moria. Whilst she did feel some of the awe it seemed to inspire in Gimli, she couldn't make herself feel his sense of hope and enthusiasm as they made their way down to where he claimed there was a door. As they carefully stepped over jagged stones, she reached out to catch Gandalf's elbow as he almost slipped beside her, steadying him with a small smile.

"Thank you, Théadain." He murmured, casting his eye warily over the tall cliff-walls.

She nodded, following his gaze as they stopped for a moment, "You are worried." She whispered, glancing carefully at the wizard.

"I am, though I truly hope I have no reason to be." He nodded, though his eyes betrayed the fact that he didn't quite believe his words.

"It is not too late to turn back." She advised softly, her heart sinking a little as he shook his head.

"This is our only path left, Théadain. I know you hoped to see your home again, but I'm afraid I cannot grant you that."

"I understand." She sighed, moving to continue walking as he laid a hand on her arm for support, "I just cannot help feeling like we are trying to choose the lesser of two evils."

"Let us hope we have chosen correctly." He smiled wryly as the ground began to level out. Their path had led them to the foot of the walls, bordered by a dark, still lake. She let the wizard stride off to the walls, hearing Gimli mention that the door they sought was invisible when closed. She sighed and followed the party to a place on the wall where Gandalf was smoothing his hand over the cold stone, murmuring softly. Théadain gasped softly as the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, illuminating the shape of a door carved into the rock that glimmered with silver light.

Her amazement was short lived as they quickly discovered that neither Gandalf nor Gimli knew the password to the doors, and she moved to lean against the rock wall, watching the lake as she waited. After a short while, she saw Aragorn move to help Sam remove the packs that Bill the pony carried.

"The mines are no place for a pony, even one so brave as Bill." The Ranger murmured softly as he slipped the pony's bridle off.

"No," She agreed softly, moving to pet the pony affectionately as Sam stroked his mane; "He belongs on wide pastures with sweet grass, not trapped underground in the dark."

"Bye bye Bill." Sam whispered sadly as Théadain helped Aragorn remove the last of the pony's tack.

"Go on Bill, go on." Aragorn murmured gently, giving the creature a gentle push and stepping back to watch as he picked his way along the lake shore, away from the mines, "Don't worry Sam, he knows the way home."

"Do horses really know that?" The Hobbit murmured doubtfully.

"He'll wait for you." Théa promised gently, "Just like I know my Folca is waiting for me in Edoras."

Seemingly satisfied by her answer, Sam nodded and moved to sit near Frodo, leaving Théadain and Aragorn to sort through what they could carry of the pony's burden, and what could be left. "Do you feel it?" She whispered to him as she hefted a bag onto her shoulder, "There's something about this place that makes me uneasy..."

"I do." He nodded, looking down at her once he had chosen what items should be left behind, "Be on your guard, Théadain."

"I always am." She smiled wryly as her eyes wandered to where Merry and Pippin were casting stones into the water, "Although I don't think _they_ are."

In a moment, Aragorn had strode over to the pair, urgently catching Pippin's shoulder, "Do not disturb the water." He warned, looking out at it warily as Théa moved to his side. She frowned at the ripples caused by the Hobbit's stones which had not yet died away.

"Something is moving." She whispered, watching as they slowly drew closer to the shore.

Just as the words left her mouth, an almighty creaking, grinding sound behind them made her turn in alarm. It seemed that Gandalf had found the password, and the Doors of Durin now stood open, revealing only darkness within. "Come, get inside." She ushered the Hobbits ahead of her, keeping one eye on the threatening lake as they moved to enter the mines.

"Soon, Master elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves!" Gimli boasted to Legolas loudly as he strode in, "Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone! This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin, and they call it a mine. A mine!"

As he spoke, Gandalf illuminated the head of his staff, and Théadain's eyes began to adjust to the gloom. The uneasy feeling in her gut blossomed into abject horror as she picked out the forms of the dry, brittle corpses that littered the floor, clad in dwarven armour.

"This is no mine, it's a tomb." Boromir breathed behind her as she took an involuntary step back towards the door, hearing Gimli wail in horror at the sight of his fallen kin. Legolas yanked an arrow from one of the corpses with a grimace; she didn't need his snarl of 'goblins' to help her identify the crude arrowhead.

"Get out." She breathed, drawing her sword and turning to the four startled Hobbits that lingered in the doorway, "Go, quickly."

"We make for the Gap of Rohan, we should never have come here." Boromir exclaimed as he urged them towards the door. Théa turned to look for Gandalf and Gimli, to usher them out, just as the Hobbits cried out in alarm.

"Frodo!" She cried as she saw him jerk backwards, something unseen dragging him out through the doorway and towards the lake.

"Strider!" Sam yelled, his alarm making him revert back to the first name he had known Aragorn by as Théa frantically pushed her way out the door.

It took a moment for her mind to process what she saw; perhaps a dozen grey tentacles thrusting from the depths of the lake, grabbing at Frodo and lifting him high into the air as the other three Hobbits lay scattered on the ground.

"Frodo, no!" She screamed, tightening her grip on her blade as Aragorn rushed ahead of her into the water, hacking at the nearest tentacle. She followed, grunting in effort as she swung her blade into what felt like pure muscle, having to withdraw it and take a second powerful swing in order to sever the limb. She looked up frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of Frodo amongst the chaos of thrashing limbs and water.

She was so preoccupied with searching for the Ringbearer, that by the time she felt the tentacle seize her ankle, it was too late to react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we weren't getting past the Watcher in the Water without incident, were we?   
> As always, thank you for reading, I really hope you're enjoying the story! X


	19. Chapter 19

_**Chapter 19** _

  
"Aragorn!"

The cry of alarm was torn from her lips as she was yanked backwards into the black lake, her mouth flooding with the cold, dark water as she was pulled under the surface. She thrashed wildly in her panic, kicking out frantically to free herself from the creature's grip. Her free foot met the rocky lakebed and she kicked up, breaking the surface and managing to drag in a breath of air before she was jerked back down.

Armed with a lungful of air, she was able to gather her senses long enough to realise she still gripped her sword. As her body was whipped from side to side under the surface, she stabbed blindly in the direction of her gripped ankle, hoping to hit something.

Her senses were overwhelmed by the motion, all she could hear was the rushing of water. Just as Théadain's strength began to fail, she felt her sword meet something solid, the grip on her ankle was suddenly released in response. Kicking desperately for the surface, her head burst into the world above with a starving gasp. She could barely see, water and her own soaked hair obscured her vision, but all around her she could hear yells and the roar of what she presumed was the creature. She could barely breathe, her clothes were too heavy, her fur-lined cloak was saturated and dragged her back as she tried to find her footing.

"Into the Mines!" Gandalf's command reached her as she struggled to drag her body out of the water in the direction of the sound, terrified she would be left behind.

"Théa!"

Strong arms lifted her free of the water as she coughed and spluttered, her free hand finding a sodden shoulder and holding on for dear life as her weary legs tried to keep up. As she stumbled, her saviour scooped her off her feet with ease, running into the darkness of the mine as behind them the doorway was torn down by the creature in its desperate attempt to reach them, ancient stone crashing down to block their escape.

All was silent for a moment, save for the frantic panting of the Fellowship in the darkness, and the harsh sound of Théadain coughing up a mouthful of black water. Able to breathe, she slumped into the arms that circled her, dragging in desperate lungfuls of stale air.

"Can you stand?"

She felt her cheeks flush at the concerned rumble of Aragorn's voice in her ear, and she looked up, able to make out his anxious grey gaze in the dim light cast by Gandalf's staff.

"I'm alright." She breathed, suddenly embarrassed that he had been the one to save her. He gently set her to her feet, steadying her with a hand on her waist as she sheathed her sword carefully and pushed her dripping hair back from her face. She looked quickly to check that Frodo had also made it free of the creature's grasp, a small sigh of relief leaving her body as she saw him safe with Boromir.

"We now have but one choice." Gandalf murmured, "We must face the long dark of Moria."

One by one, the members of the Fellowship moved to follow the wizard as they picked their way carefully over the dusty bones of fallen dwarves, but Théadain hesitated, gently catching Aragorn's wet hand in her own.

"Thank you." She breathed softly as his intense gaze returned to her, his fingers curling around hers gently, "For saving me, you didn't... You didn't have to, I don't want you to think I'm a burden-"

"You aren't." He reassured gently, drawing her close to wipe away a bead of water that trickled down her cheek from her hair, his thumb gently sweeping over her skin, "And I did have to."

"You... you did?" Her words took a moment to squeeze their way past her stunned lips, her heart thudding wildly in her ears at his touch.

"You called for me." He smiled softly, stepping back as he became aware of Gandalf's light moving further away. He gently guided her to walk in front of him so he could keep watch at the rear.

He was reluctant to release her though, given the choice he would have kept her hand in his, reassuring himself that she was alright. Her frightened scream of his name when she had been pulled under had felt like a cold hand seizing his heart. Those moments when he had been torn between cutting down the creature to free Frodo and scanning the water for a flash of red hair seemed to last a lifetime. It was almost worse when Frodo had safely tumbled into Boromir's arms, because he knew that he had so little time to find her. His relief when she had reappeared above the water was immeasurable, he did not think he had done much, helping her out of the water, but she seemed to believe she would not have made it out if he hadn't.

That was something he couldn't bear to imagine.

Shaking his head, Aragorn fixed his eyes on her back, following her into the darkness as he kept a wary watch for any signs of the orcs that undoubtably lurked in the shadows.

*

Gandalf had told them it would be a four day journey to the other side of the mine, but Théadain could not track the passing of time in the darkness. She estimated that perhaps two days had passed since Aragorn had dragged her from the water, though she had not been able to rest. Their path had led them over deep ravines carved out of the earth, up steep flights of stone steps littered with more corpses and through empty, echoing halls. When they did stop to rest, she could not bring herself to close her eyes, her skin prickled with discomfort as she listened for the tell-tale screech of a goblin, or the pattering of feet approaching.

It was at the top of a treacherous flight of steps that Gandalf had stopped them, facing three dark doorways.

"I have no memory of this place." He frowned as the Fellowship gathered around him, "Take some rest, I will try to remember the way." He sighed, seating himself on a large boulder between the doorways. Théadain bit her lip as she searched for somewhere to settle, that would offer her a decent vantage point so she could watch their surroundings. Aragorn had found a torch not long after they had entered the mine, and he and Boromir huddled around it like it was a fire, both keeping watch at the tops of the steps as Aragorn lit his pipe.

"Théadain, come rest." Boromir coaxed, seeing her tired eyes scanning the darkness. She nodded reluctantly, moving to settle between the two men as they made space for her, allowing her to warm her hands over the small flame. "You should try and sleep." The Gondorian advised gently.

"We need to stay alert." She whispered, shaking her head. She was terrified of falling asleep and then an attack happening. She couldn't bear to be a burden and need saving again.

"We will keep watch." Aragorn reassured her gently as he rested his pipe on his knee, "You'll be no good in a fight if you are tired."

She sighed and nodded, unable to argue with his reasoning as she settled her arms on her knees, "Wake me if anything happens." She murmured, drawing her cloak tightly around herself. Boromir held out his arm to offer her his side to lean into, and she nestled against him with a soft sigh, letting her old friend draw her close.

Aragorn tried not to let his eyes wander to their embrace, trying to focus on keeping watch. He took a long pull from his pipe to steady himself, setting his gaze forward. In the darkness of the mine, Théadain had drawn into herself, and it made something in his stomach twinge to see the way she so easily curled into the other man's arms. The man whom, at some point in his life, had wanted to marry her. Through the events of recent days, he had grown to trust Boromir more, even count him as a friend, but Aragorn couldn't quite define why he felt a burn of resentment as he watched the easy relationship the man shared with Theádain.

Though, in her moment of fear, when the creature at the gate had grabbed her, she had called for _him_ , not Boromir.

 _That_ realisation only served to further confuse his thoughts.

Hours passed in the darkness, and Théa slept soundly curled in Boromir's arms. After a while his body had grown stiff, and he had laid her down on the stone step beside Aragorn before going to stretch his legs. As the Ranger moved to gently tuck her cloak around her shoulders, she stirred, her brow furrowing in her sleep as she dreamed. Her breathing began to quicken as he realised she was in the grip of a nightmare.

Théadain tossed a little, her hands gripping the fabric of her cloak tightly as her mind tried to make sense of the images that flashed before it.

_She walked barefoot through the Golden Hall of Meduseld, flinching as broken glass crunched under the soles of her feet, biting into her skin. The hall was silent, she could see no one, though the floor was stained with fresh blood._

_"Father?" She called, spinning around in panic, seeing that the windows of the hall were broken, and outside the sky was red with flames, "_ _Éowyn-_ _Éomer!" She cried, running to push at the great doors, though they would not budge under her hands, "H_ _áma, Gamling, open the door!" She shouted, though she could hear nothing but the echo of her own voice echoing off the walls and bouncing back to her. "Th_ _éodred!" She screamed desperately, her own blood mingling with that on the floor as she paced over the broken glass towards the centre of the hall. Behind her, she heard the doors creak, as if they were under some enormous strain. Turning to look, she cried out in alarm as they burst open, and a great wave of black, freezing water cascaded towards her._

"Théodred!" She gasped as she woke, her hand flying to the dagger at her side as she sat up abruptly, a reassuring hand on her chest stopped her toppling from where she had lain on the stone step.

"It's alright, Théadain," Aragorn soothed, seeing her wide, frightened eyes darting around the mine as she remembered where she was, "It was only a dream, you're safe."

"Edoras- I dreamed... They were all gone." She panted, wiping the heel of her hand over her eyes to clear them of sleep, "I... The water..." She shook her head, "Something awful had happened and... And I hadn't been able to save them."

"It was a dream, Théadain." He reassured her softly, laying his hand between her shoulder blades to support her as she tried to compose herself.

"I'm so frightened for them." She admitted in little more than a whisper, "I have no way of knowing if they are safe, I just... I wish I could see my brother, even for just a moment..."

"Do you miss him?"

"Every moment we are apart." She murmured, knotting her hands in her lap as she looked up at the man at her side, "We were always there for each other, when we were small... Neither of us knew our mothers, but we had each other, and our father. That was all we needed." She smiled a little as she thought of Théodred, feeling Aragorn watching her curiously as she spoke, "I think you would like him, and my cousin Éomer."

"Then I hope you will introduce us someday." He smiled gently.

"I will." She promised, nodding to assure herself. Her heart had finally begun to slow after the racing panic of her nightmare.

"Ah!" The sound of Gandalf's raised voice made her turn in surprise, "It's that way."

"He's remembered!" Merry smiled, scrambling to his feet as Théa moved to stand with a soft groan.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here." The wizard smiled as the Fellowship moved to his side, "If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose." He chuckled, leading them down one of the dark passageways.

The path led them deeper down into the earth, and on the slippery stone steps Theádain had to once or twice brace her hands on the rock walls to stop herself falling. Once, Legolas had had to catch her wrist when a step had crumbled under her foot, stopping her from tumbling down the steep flight.

At the bottom of the steps, Gandalf cautiously increased the light that shone from his staff, drawing an astonished gasp from Théa's lips as he revealed the enormous chamber they stood in. It was as if the dwarves had hollowed out the very heart of the mountain, supporting the high ceiling with great stone columns, carved into elegant geometric shapes. The pillars seemed to stretch on forever into the darkness in each direction, creating a sense of unending space.

It made her feel very exposed, not knowing what lay beyond the light provided by Gandalf. If there was anything out there, it would be very difficult to hide from them in this echoing hall.

"Behold- The great realm of the dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf." The wizard smiled as he began to lead them onwards.

"Well there's an eye opener, and no mistake." Sam breathed in awe in front of Théadain, making her smile fondly at the Hobbit. As they passed beneath the great stone supports, she tried to imagine how the city would have looked, filled with life and light. Perhaps it might have felt warm and vibrant, but now the air was cold, and they only sound that filled the space were the footsteps of ten walkers.

She could not tell how long they had walked through the hall in silence, passing too many pillars to count, but she was suddenly drawn from her thoughts as Gimli made a sound of alarm, hearing Gandalf call for the dwarf as he suddenly dashed away.

"Gimli?" She frowned, jogging to follow with the rest of the Fellowship, her pace quickening as she realised that she could see a light cast neither by Gandalf's staff or Aragorn's torch. It was _daylight_. Her heart leapt with hope, believing for a moment that they had reached the end of the mine, before realising that the light streamed from a tiny window set high on the wall of the room they had entered, illuminating a white marble block. She paused to take in the carcasses of dwarves that littered the floor as Gimli knelt by the white stone with a low, mournful sound.

Gandalf carefully stepped over the debris on the floor to read the ruins inscribed on the stone; "Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria... He is dead then. It's as I feared."

"Gimli, I am so sorry." Théadain breathed, moving to lay a hand on the dwarf's shoulder as she considered the impact of losing a cousin. If anything were to happen to Éowyn or Éomer, she did not think she would remain so composed. Beneath her hand he wept openly, and her heart ached for him. She had a great affection for the dwarf, his gruff humour reminded her of many of the men she rode with in her company. She squeezed his shoulder in a way he hoped would comfort him, reaching to carefully brush a layer of dust from the tomb as Gandalf moved to lift a crumbling book from the skeletal hands of a long-dead dwarf. Pages slipped from the tome and fluttered to the ground like leaves as he opened it to read the hand-scrawled ruins within.

"We must move on, we cannot linger." She heard Legolas breathe behind her, making her turn to cast him a pleading look.

"Give him time, Legolas." She whispered, glancing back to Gimli as he stared at the tomb.

"They have taken the bridge, and the second hall." Gandalf began to read slowly, his voice low as his hand traced over the ruins; "We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long." She drew in a trembling breath as she realised they were listening to the last accounts of the dwarves that now lay dead at their feet; "The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep... We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark." She unconsciously laid her hand on the hilt of her sword as she looked at the wizard, his words chilling her heart;

"We cannot get out. They are coming."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eee they're definitely starting to get closer!  
> Thank you to everyone who has read, bookmarked this story or left a kudos or comment, it really means a lot! X


	20. Chapter 20

**_Chapter 20_ **

  
At the sound of the terrible crash behind her, Théadain's sword was drawn as she turned in alarm to look at where Pippin stood beside a raised well. The Hobbit grimaced as the corpse perched on the edge slowly slid down into the hole, rattling and careening into what she could only presume were rocks below, the sound seeming to echo throughout the whole mine as the body fell into what sounded like the depths of the earth. With it, the carcass dragged a chain and bucket, which only seemed to double the noise that seemed to shake the very walls of the room. The phrase ' _enough noise to wake the dead_ ' briefly passed through the Shieldmaiden's mind as she looked at the Hobbit in horror.

As the sound faded to silence, there was a long moment where not one member of the Fellowship dared to breathe. It seemed that somehow, by some miracle, they had not alerted any creature to their presence.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snapped, moving to snatch his staff and hat from where Pippin held them, "Throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!"

Théadain opened her mouth to offer a word of comfort to the Hobbit as he cringed at the wizard's words, but she turned to look behind her at the low sound that echoed through the mine.

_Doom._

She looked to the others, seeing Aragorn turn to look at her with a grim expression.

_Doom._

He had heard it too, and the second beat seemed to grow louder than the first.

_Doom. Doom._

"Drums." She breathed fearfully, remembering the haunting words of the book Gandalf had read aloud. _Drums in the deep._

The sound continued, a frantic beat with no pattern, and her heart hammered to match it as her ears picked up the unmistakable shriek of a goblin.

"Orcs!" Legolas snarled as Théadain spun to look around the room.

"The doors, barricade the doors." She called, seeing the heavy wooden slabs that lay open at the entrance to the chamber. She dashed to snatch up a metal spear from the ground as Boromir ran to look out the doors, leaping back as two black arrows met the wood inches from his face. As Aragorn joined him in tugging the doors closed, a fierce roar echoed through the mine. Théadain grimaced as she used the spear to brace the doors closed; "What was that?"

"They have a cave troll." Boromir sighed, his tone almost amused as he threw his shoulder against the door, turning to catch the axes and other objects Legolas tossed to him, handing them to Théa and Aragorn to help reinforce the door. On the other side of the wood, she could hear rapid footsteps approaching and the unmistakable sound of arrows leaving bowstrings.

"Back." She breathed, her feet carrying her towards the tomb of Balin as she sheathed her sword, scrambling to tug off her cloak to catch hold of the bow on her back. If the doors held, they could buy themselves a few moments of time with ranged weapons. She didn't dare linger on the thought that the doors would be little more than an inconvenience to a troll.

Behind her, she heard the sound of the Hobbits bravely drawing their short swords. As she took a steadying breath and fitted an arrow to her bowstring, she prayed they would remember all she had taught them in Rivendell. At this moment, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Théadain planted her feet firmly as she set her eyes on the door, her fingers settling around the smooth wood of her bow as the door bulged and buckled, rammed from the other side by an unknown number of foes. Drawing the bowstring back to her ear, she held her body with equal tension.

She had not been prepared for a fight back at the gates, but she was ready now. This was no creature of the deep that she didn't know how to battle, these were orcs. This time she would not need rescued, this was what she knew how to do.

"Argh! Let them come!" Gimli growled, leaping onto the tomb behind her and brandishing his axe, "There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

At her side Aragorn drew back his bowstring, his aim shifting from point to point on the door, trying to anticipate where the wood might give way first. Spearheads began to break through the splintering wood, dark, cruel looking weaponry forcing its way in, accompanied by a clamouring of screeches.

Legolas was the first to release an arrow, striking a creature through a gap too small for Théadain to see, earning a shriek of pain as it met the unseen target. As a gap widened, she was able to free an arrow of her own and swiftly reached for a second, just as the doors began to buckle.

She would not have time to fire a second; swinging her bow onto her back she drew her sword in a swift, instinctive motion, her fingers finding the grooves of the hilt just as the doors burst open.

The orcs poured into the room like water, their bodies clad in mismatched armour, scavenged from the dwarves. It was poorly pieced together, and already Théa's trained eye picked out areas of weakness, or where the mottled skin of her enemies could be clearly seen through the metal. They snarled and shrieked as the first wave charged towards her, brandishing rusted weaponry as their malicious yellow eyes focused on their prey.

With a yell she threw herself into the fight alongside her comrades, the familiar rush of adrenaline taking over her body as she twisted and spun, her sword meeting flesh and splattering her hands with dark blood. Around her she could hear cries of effort from Boromir and Gimli, and behind her shouts of the Hobbits as they dove into battle. She had no time to be frightened for them, no thought to spare as she ducked to avoid the clumsy swipe of a blade. Her feint overbalanced her attacker and she grabbed its helmet, pulling the goblin to meet her blade. She used its body to block another strike, kicking the dead creature off her sword and bowling another over in the process.

They just seemed to keep coming, for every one she struck down, two more seemed to take its place. She grunted with frustration as one dove at her shoulder, driving her sword through its neck with a yell. She did not fight quietly, for she had never been encouraged to. The Rohirrim fought with passion and valour, so battle was never a silent affair.

An almighty crash made her stumble as she recovered from decapitating a persistent enemy, her eyes drawing up from the battle at hand to take in the monstrous form of the cave troll that had barrelled into the room, taking half the wall with it. A low curse spilled from her lips as it roared fiercely at the Fellowship, goblins scattering out of its way as the few holding the troll's chain struggled to control it. Théadain watched in horror as Legolas lodged an arrow in its neck, which only seemed to enrage it further.

"Get back!" She turned to yell to the Hobbits as it raised an enormous spiked mace, its eyes fixed on Sam. Her attention was captured as her hair was grabbed from behind by a goblin, a scream of frustration escaping her lips as she was dragged backwards. Instinctively she let her body drop to the ground, pulling the creature down on top of her to shock it into letting go of her hair. It was clumsy, and she earned a jarring knock to the face and a split lip from an armoured elbow, but she managed the find a crevice to drive her bloodstained blade into, grimacing as the orc went limp on top of her. The ground shook as she felt the troll crash around the room, swiping at the Fellowship and goblins alike. With a groan she shoved the corpse off her body and scrambled to her feet in time to see the troll trying to whip its chain at Legolas.

She warily bounced on the balls of her feet for a moment, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground before ducking low and moving to swipe across the back of the troll's legs whilst it was distracted. It roared in pain, though as she sprang up she could see that its hide was too thick for her to have impaired its motion considerably. Another curse tumbled from her lips as it turned to swing the mace at her, dropping to roll a few feet away as the weapon crashed into the ground. The troll moved to pursue her, but she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw it was trapped by its chain, caught around a stone pillar.

"Théa!" Boromir's warning cry made her turn just in time to block the stab of a spear, a flick of her wrist knocking it from her assailant's hand and another taking its head from its shoulders. He chuckled grimly as he moved to her side, "I see now why they call you _Lioness_." He commented, not having expected the ferocity he had seen in his friend.

"There can't possibly be more." She breathed, ignoring his comment as she delivered a swift punch to the throat of an orc to reach Boromir's side.

"They'll flee if we can take the troll down." He growled as he finished off the orc for her, shaking his sword to free it from the body.

"Its hide is too thick-" She panted, the effort of talking as she fought stealing her breath away, "I can't get close enough to do enough damage." Raising her leg to kick a charging goblin straight in its armoured chest, she took a moment to try and catch her breath, looking around at the chaotic burial chamber.

They were scattered, each member of the Fellowship fighting ferociously for their lives as they were set upon by orcs. She drew in a panicked breath as she moved her eyes back to the troll, seeing that it had set its sights on Frodo.

"Aragorn!" The Ringbearer cried in fright as it caught his ankle, dragging the Hobbit towards its hulking form.

"Frodo!" Théadain cried, trying to spot Aragorn in the fray to alert him to the danger. Instead she locked eyes with an orc, sharing that sickening moment when two creatures understand that one will kill the other, each believing that they will be the victor. She had seen the look before, and she had not yet been wrong in her self-assurance. She blocked the first blow from its jagged sword, locking blades and using her forearm to shove the creature back. It snarled, baring its teeth and Théa answered with a tooth-baring yell of her own, her aggression spilling over as she raised her sword to strike it down just as it did the same. Without thinking, she changed her angle, driving her sword into its chest as she held up her arm, her leather-clad forearm taking the blow to prevent the sword meeting her skull.

A choked scream of pain and frustration left her lips as the rusted blade bit into her flesh. It had been slowed by her leather vambraces, but if it had been any sharper it may have severed her arm. The adrenaline coursing through her veins shielded her from the full shock of pain, urging her to keep going, to keep fighting until she was safe.

Cries of Frodo's name brought her focus back to the troll, and she gasped in horror at the sight of Merry and Pippin clinging to its back, being flung around like ragdolls as they tried to stab at the creature. "Merry!" She shouted for her friend as he was gripped by the troll, carelessly flung aside by the drooling creature as it tried to free itself of the pair. As the Hobbit crashed to the ground she ran to him, preparing to defend him from the goblins, but as she crouched by Merry and gently supported his shoulders she realised that their assailants either lay dead or had fled the room.

"Frodo..." The Hobbit in her arms groaned as she cradled him, her head snapping to search the room for Frodo. What she saw made her heart seize in her chest and her blood run cold.

Behind the flailing form of the troll, Frodo lay face down on the floor, a spear protruding from under his body, whilst, mere feet from him, Aragorn lay motionless. 


	21. Chapter 21

**_Chapter 21_ **

  
At the sight of the still forms of both Aragorn and Frodo, Théadain felt herself gripped by a choking, sickening despair, her hands tightening on Merry as she remembered the threat of the troll, seeing it setting upon the remaining members of the Fellowship.

"No!" She cried, releasing Merry to force herself to her feet as Gimli ran at the troll, getting knocked back with a grunt as she raised her sword to charge. She managed to lodge her blade in the side of its grey belly before a massive hand swiped her off her feet, knocking her onto her back.

She lay winded, the world spinning around her head as the shock of hitting the stone floor reverberated through her body. Above her she heard the troll roar and braced herself to feel another impact, before it groaned, a low, confused sound. Forcing her vision to focus she pushed herself up shakily, her eyes widening in alarm as she realised the troll was staggering towards her. With a gasp of effort she rolled to the side, narrowly missing being crushed by the creature as it fell.

All was quiet as the dust settled around the body of the troll. As Théadain pushed herself onto her knees with a weary groan, she saw the arrows protruding from its mouth, indicating that Legolas had brought it down. As her racing mind began to realise that the danger had passed she slowly became aware of the aches that littered her body. She could take stock of her injuries later though, she thought as she forced herself to look to where Frodo and Aragorn lay.

With a trembling sigh of relief, she saw that Aragorn was up, crawling to roll Frodo over. For a gut-wrenching moment, he seemed completely limp, before a pained groan left his lips and he stirred in Aragorn's arms.

"He's alive." Sam breathed as she moved to help his friend sit up, trembling with relief.

"I'm alright, I'm not hurt." The Ringbearer panted, looking down at himself in amazement.

"You should be dead!" Aragorn marvelled, "That spear would have skewered a wild boar!"

"I think there is more to this Hobbit than meets the eye." Gandalf murmured, looking at Frodo knowingly as Théa forced herself to her feet, staggering a little as she watched Frodo tug his shirt open at the collar, revealing fine, glistening mail beneath.

" _Mithril_!" Gimli gasped at the sight, "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins!"

"Let's hope that's the end of today's surprises." Théadain groaned, twisting her arm to admire the shallow gash that oozed a healthy amount of scarlet blood. It was already congealing in the fabric of her torn shirt and the damaged leather of her vambrace, the injury could wait to be tended to.

She looked up in alarm at the sound of more footsteps and the calls of orcs, bending to jerk her sword from where it was still lodged in the belly of the fallen troll. Looking around at the exhausted, battered Fellowship, she didn't think they'd survive another fight.

"To the bridge of Khazad-Dum!" Gandalf commanded, turning to lead them from the chamber. Théadain couldn't help but agree, flight was their best chance. They must be near the end of the mines, if they ran, they might just make it without another scrap.

"Quickly." She breathed, urging the Hobbits ahead of her and quickly grasping Aragorn's shoulder as he snatched up his sword, "Can you run? You were out cold."

"I can run." He confirmed grimly, catching her wrist to lead her from the chamber, their strides lengthening to a sprint as they followed the Fellowship. He released her so they could move faster, bursting into the great hallway of pillars and leaving the daylight of the tomb behind them. As Théadain's eyes readjusted to the darkness, she grimaced at the sight that lay before her. Orcs poured from cervices on the walls, the floor, the ceiling; an unstoppable tide of metal and shrieks. There had to be hundreds, maybe even thousands of them – there was no hope for ten exhausted travellers against this army.

They swarmed down the pillars like insects, but the Fellowship were outpacing them. If they could just keep going, Théa thought frantically, they may make it out alive. She didn't want to die here in the dark.

Her heart fell as she realised that the path ahead of them was blocked by the swarming creatures. They were trapped.

Gandalf drew them to a reluctant halt and they huddled together as the goblins snarled and sneered at them, their cruel eyes mocking and hungry as they brandished their spears to make the Fellowship press tightly against one another. Théadain felt Frodo against her side and she protectively held her sword in front of him, baring her teeth fiercely back at the goblin that growled inches from her face. If she was to die here in the dark, she would die protecting her friends, not cowering in the shadows.

Just as she had begun to accept that this was it, that there was no way out, a terrible roar echoed through the cavernous space. Théadain turned in alarm, almost hoping to see another troll, for the sound to be explained by something familiar, but she knew in her heart that this was something else, something older, darker, more powerful. The sound had travelled through her body like a clap of thunder, striking dread into her soul.

The orcs felt it too. She watched in confusion as they flinched back, looking around and crying out in apparent terror and confusion. Whatever it was, it wasn't on their enemy's side, but she could almost guarantee that it wasn't on the Fellowship's side either. As if a command had been made, the goblins began to run, screaming and screeching into the darkness as they fled, scrambling back up the stone pillars. The Fellowship could only watch in shock as they were left standing alone, and unexpectedly _alive_ in the middle of the hall.

Théadain's skin prickled at the low growl that rumbled through the cavernous space, turning slowly to look back up the hall. An eerie, fire-like glow illuminated the distant pillars from floor to ceiling, and as the growl continued, the light seemed to grow stronger.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir breathed, holding his torch aloft as he stared in horror at the approaching glow. Théadain could smell burning now, not the scent of a crackling log fire, but the reek of charred skin and hair, the smell of a funeral pyre.

"A Balrog. A demon of the ancient world." Gandalf murmured, his tone grim as he set his eyes on the red glow; "This foe is beyond any of you- Run!"

Théadain had no time to process his words before they were fleeing once more, her feet pounding against the stone hall as she fought to push herself harder, to get away faster. She dared a glance over her shoulder as another roar shook the walls of the cavern, gulping down mouthfuls of sulphurous air – air that already seemed to be growing hot. As Pippin fell in to step at her side, his little legs struggling to keep up, she placed a hand on his back to urge him on, unable to catch her breath for long enough to offer an encouraging word as she ran. In the distance, she could see a small door in the far wall. That _had_ to be their way out.

Her legs burned with effort as they approached the doorway, where Gandalf paused to usher them through. She did not slow her pace as she followed Boromir and Legolas down the flight of stone steps before them, taking them two at a time. Ahead of her Boromir yelped in alarm as he staggered at the edge of a precipice, the torch he held aloft falling into the darkness below as he teetered on the brink before Legolas tugged him back with an arm around his chest.

"Careful!" She gasped, flinging a hand out in front of the Hobbits as she skidded to a stop before the edge, looking around herself to take in the angular pathways of stone steps that led from their doorway, all standing independently as they cut across the massive cavern they had emerged in. In the distance she could see a narrow stone bridge, guessing that must be where Gandalf wanted them to reach – it took her a moment to realise grimly that she could indeed see so much more in this part of the mine, as the walls were illuminated by the same glow that seemed to be pursuing them.

"Down, quickly." Aragorn breathed as he appeared at her shoulder, a gentle but firm hand at her back urging her to turn and dash down the next flight of steps, careful to slow her pace when she turned the sharp corners that dropped off into the abyss. From where she ran, she could not guess how long the stairs went on for, they seemed endless, each step making her thighs ache with the effort of their rapid decent.

" _Shit_..." She groaned as ahead of her, Legolas hesitated, and she caught a glimpse of the wide gap in their path, where several of the steps seemed to have crumbled away. As the elf leapt over the gaping hole in the stairs with predictable ease, she bit her lip, calculating that the gap couldn't be any wider than the height of a man, and as they would be jumping downwards they would be leant a little extra distance – it was manageable, all they had to overcome was the fear of falling.

She watched as Gandalf hesitated before leaping with a grunt of effort, being caught and steadied by the elf as Boromir stepped up to jump next. He flinched as something struck the broad shield on his arm, turning to see arrows raining down on them from a ledge high above them. Théa gasped as one struck the ground by her feet, pushing Frodo and Sam behind her to shield them with her body as Legolas and Aragorn turned to fire on their assailants.

"Go Boromir!" She urged, turning to her friend as he hesitated at the edge.

"Merry, Pippin!" Boromir cried, sweeping the pair into his arms and jumping with a yell of effort. The force of his leap seemed to weaken the steps they stood on, and had Sam not grasped Théadain's quiver and tugged her back, she may well have slid down into the darkness with the falling stones as several of the steps broke away. Scrambling back amongst the chaos of stone and arrows, she looked at the widened gap despairingly, her breath coming in heavy pants as she tried to think of what to do. She, Gimli, Sam, Frodo and Aragorn stood separated from the others- had Frodo been safely across the gap she would have urged them to go on without them, but she knew they would not leave any of the party behind.

"Sam!" Aragorn called for the Hobbit, lifting him off his feet and tossing him across the gap to Boromir without a moment's thought. As he turned to catch Gimli, the dwarf held up a hand in refusal.

"Nobody tosses a dwarf." He insisted, not even bothering to take a run at the gap, jumping from a standstill to clear the distance. Théadain almost cried out in alarm as it seemed he would not make it, but Legolas lunged forward on the other side to catch the dwarf by the first thing he could – his beard.

"Théadain-" Aragorn moved to grab her arm just as she jerked him out of the path of an arrow, feeling it whistle past her own cheek as he moved to return fire.

"Get Frodo across-" She began, just as the stone beneath her feet began to crumble.

"Théa _jump!"_ Boromir cried as Aragorn's hand gripped the back of her coat. She barely had enough sense to push off with her own feet before he had thrown her clear of the crumbling steps, her body seeming to hang in the air for a sickening moment before she crashed down into Legolas' waiting arms. She clutched at the elf, forcing herself not to tremble at the shock of almost falling as she turned to look back, ready to catch Aragorn and Frodo when they jumped.

Though she could see now, that jumping would be impossible.

"Aragorn!" She cried in alarm as she watched him hang by his arms over the abyss for a dreadful second, the stone where she had stood long since fallen away. As he pulled himself up, she could see the gap was now double, perhaps three times as wide as it had been. Even Aragorn could not throw Frodo that far.

The divided Fellowship could only look at each other in horror, as behind Aragorn and Frodo, the walls shook with the sound of what seemed to be dreadful, heavy footsteps. The shaking dislodged stone from the walls and ceiling, making Théa flinch as a great chunk of rock crashed into the steps behind the trapped pair, leaving their section of the stairs standing independent of any support, and very likely to fall. Meeting Aragorn's eyes across the gap, she could see him calculating something – their chances of survival? How to get Frodo to safety?

As the stone supporting the steps began to crack and crumble, the platform they stood on began to sway precariously, making it seem like they would have to watch the Ringbearer and the Ranger plummet to their deaths before them. Théadain's heart hammered in her ears as she watched Aragorn grasp Frodo's shoulder, encouraging him to lean with the motion of the steps as they swayed. Back, then forward... As is he were trying to balance the stone in his favour, but he could not stop them from beginning to fall.

She gaped as she realised they were falling towards them, sheathing her sword as she lunged forward just as they leapt, catching Frodo tightly in her arms. Beneath her she heard stone crash into stone, as the steps they had leapt from tumbled down into the darkness, but there was no time to appreciate their luck as Gandalf commanded them to keep running. Releasing Frodo and setting him safely in front of her, Théadain ran, faster than she thought her legs could have managed, considering all she wanted to do was collapse on the ground. She could see the bridge more clearly now, they weren't far, they may still make it. 


	22. Chapter 22

_**Chapter 22** _

  
Théadain's muscles burned as she ran, her heartbeat matching the rapid pounding of her feet. Her hands were slick with sweat as her body struggled to cope with the rising heat around her, as if someone had set a fire beneath the very stone they ran on. The steps had once seemed endless, but she could see as they rounded a final corner, they had reached the bottom of the chasm. Below them the world still dropped off into an infinite darkness, but this was as far as the dwarves had furnished the mine.

Behind her she could hear that terrible roar echoing, the sound bouncing off the walls so she couldn't identify where it was coming from, for all she knew the creature could be in front of them, waiting to trap them just as it seemed they would escape. As they finally reached level ground, she gasped at the tall flames that burned unaided on the bare stone floor, climbing up the stone pillars that supported the steps above without any fuel.

"Over the bridge!" Gandalf commanded them, jerking her from her frightened trance, "Fly!"

She turned to see the narrow bridge stretching before them, taking a step towards it just as the heat at her back reached a burning crescendo, accompanied by a roar that pierced through her exhausted body. Turning back in horror, she cried out in fright at the creature that stepped from the flames. It towered over the Fellowship, greater in height than anything she had ever seen before, as tall as twenty men or more. Its body was almost that of a man, but its head was horned like the skull of a ram, its eyes burning hot white in its charred, black skin, which cracked to reveal flesh like smouldering embers beneath. As it stepped towards the Fellowship, reaching out a clawed hand, it splayed bat-like wings out behind itself, its entire figure framed and engulfed by flames that seemed to erupt from its skin. This was the demon Gandalf had warned them of, the Balrog.

She did not need another command to tell her to run, sheer instinct and fear carried her over the bridge, not even giving her a moment to consider being careful as she dashed over the great height – death by falling would be a blessing in comparison to what followed her. Aragorn clasped her shoulder as he met her at the other side of the bridge, his eyes fixed on the demon as it snarled in its pursuit. He pushed her in the direction of flight of steps, the first she had seen that led upwards in what felt like days. Up was good, they would lead them from the depths of the earth into the daylight, where the world made sense and demons did not stalk the shadows.

In front of her on the steps, Frodo hesitated, turning back to look at the bridge. As she followed his gaze, Théadain gasped in horror at the sight of Gandalf standing alone on the arc of stone, facing the creature as it took a step towards him.

"You cannot pass!" He cried in a commanding tone, his gaze set as he brandished his sword and staff. Defiantly, the demon straightened to its full height before him, flames erupting from its figure as it stared down at the wizard, making Frodo cry out for him in fright.

"I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Arnor!" The wizard called, staring down the creature, as it drew a flaming sword from the darkness behind, "Dark fire shall not avail you, Flame of Udun!" As the demon moved to bring to sword down on the wizard, Gandalf parried, his staff conjuring a protective sphere of light around his body. For a moment Théadain had been terrified that he would let the demon strike him down, to allow the Fellowship to escape. She knew they should be running, but she stood transfixed by the battle of wills and ancient magic before her, knowing they could not leave the wizard.

"Go back to the shadow." Gandalf snarled, his voice echoing around the chasm as the Balrog took a single, heavy step onto the bridge, its clawed foot cracking the stone beneath it as it drew a second weapon, a flaming bullwhip. Théa gasped in horror as it cracked the snaking tongue of fire above the wizard, bearing down on him as he lifted his sword and staff in unison.

" _You shall not pass_!" Gandalf cried commandingly, driving his staff down into the bride with a blinding flash of light.

As if driven by the force of the spell, the Balrog took a step back from the wizard, and Théadain released a cautious breath as it seemed that it might retreat; and then it stepped onto the bridge in earnest, raising its whip to strike to wizard.

"Gandalf!" She cried in fright as, under the weight of the demon, the bridge crumbled. The creature roared in fury as it tumbled down into the abyss, reaching for Gandalf as the wizard stood firm, his half of the stone bridge standing strong under the force of his spellcasting. Théa watched in awe as the Balrog fell, plummeting down into the darkness below as the wizard turned, looking suddenly exhausted as he moved to join the Fellowship.

A gasp of horror was dragged from her throat as, from the shadows beneath the bridge, the bullwhip snapped up through the air, catching the wizard's ankle in its fiery grip.

"No!" She couldn't tell if the cry left her lips or Boromir's first, her body jolting forward to react as Gandalf was dragged off his feet, barely catching the edge of the bridge with his fingertips and desperately trying to haul himself up. She felt Legolas catch her shoulder and pull her back, his keen eyesight picking out the orc archers that aimed at the Fellowship as she struggled, her eyes fixed on the wizard as he gazed back at his companions. If one of them could reach him, they could pull him up, she was certain of it, but even from this distance she could see the fearful resolve in their leader's face.

"Fly you fools."

Théadain could not tell if, after his breathless command his hands had simply lost all strength, or if the wizard had let go; but with those words, Gandalf fell.

"No!" She screamed again, fighting against Legolas' hands as she was pulled back, not noticing the arrow that struck the wall behind her. The world seemed to slow, as if she was trying to run through water, she couldn't think quickly enough to process what she had seen.

"Théadain we have to get out." The elf's voice in her ear made her pull her gaze from the crushing darkness Gandalf had vanished into, and she turned to see Boromir struggling to hold back Frodo as he cried out for their leader. The others were in a similar state, distraught, lost. Even Aragorn still stared at edge of the bridge, as if he could will their fallen friend back into existence.

More arrows rained down amongst them as she drew in a shaky breath to gather herself. She could not let them stand here and be slaughtered, "Lead them up, Legolas." She breathed firmly, "Get us out of here." She gave Merry and Pippin's trembling forms a gentle push as she forced herself up the stairs, letting Boromir pass her as he scooped Frodo into his arms, turning back to call for Aragorn. She glanced back as Aragorn turned, his expression shocked and mournful as he moved to bound up the stairs after her, casting one last glance back at the bridge as he dodged an arrow. Seeing that he was following, she forced her legs to make one last bound upwards.

Looking back, she could not remember how long it took them to get out of the mine, minutes or an hour, she did not know, but as they finally burst out into the daylit mountainside, leaving the darkness behind, her weary legs gave way. As she sank down onto a rock she realised she was shaking, her hands trembling as she drew in tremulous breaths.

"No- let me go- let me go back!" Her eyes lifted to see Gimli struggling with Boromir, the man desperately trying to prevent the frantic dwarf from charging back into the mines. She swallowed thickly as she looked around at their broken Fellowship, at where Pippin lay sobbing in Merry's arms, where Sam cradled his head in his hands, and Legolas stood, frozen in mournful confusion. Death was not often witnessed by elves, the finality of it had to be a shock to one whom an endless lifetime stretched in front of.

"It's alright Gimli." She breathed, forcing her shaking legs to cooperate as she pushed herself up to lay her hands upon the dwarf's helmet as he fought Boromir's hold. She nodded for the man to release him, gesturing to the Hobbits. She could be strong for now, for them.

"I drove us into that place." Gimli whispered brokenly as she dropped her hands to his shoulders, his gaze fixed on the doorway into the mountain.

"Gimli no, he would not blame you." She insisted, sinking to one knee so she could look into his eyes, "He knew the risk, better than any of us."

"I should have seen it-"

"You could not." She promised, "There is no blame to be laid here, not on you, nor even on Gandalf." Her eyes watered traitorously as she saw Gimli's own fill with tears at the mention of the wizard's name. She swallowed thickly and pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders to steady him. After a moment the tension dropped from his body and she pulled away a little, guiding him to sit on a rock, "Rest Gimli." She urged gently, standing with a weary sigh as she looked to see who else needed a word of reassurance. They all did, in truth, but if she focused on the others, she could hold off her own tears for a little while longer. Years as a leader had taught her how to smother her own emotions until it was safe to release them.

Her eyes settled on Aragorn as he stood, wiping the blood from his sword before sheathing it, his eyes wandering over their company, lingering on her carefully controlled expression, as if he could see the despair that lay just beneath the surface.

"Legolas, get them up." He called, his words stirring the elf from his silent contemplation.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir cried, moving to stand by Gimli once more.

"Aragorn look at them, we need time." Théadain argued softly, taking a step towards the man. She had seen his face in the mines, the fear, the loss. Surely he could not have pulled himself together so quickly?

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs." He replied, his tone level as he tried to reason with her, "We must reach the woods of Lothlórien."

"They are exhausted!" She frowned, gesturing to the Hobbits, "They can't travel like this, give us an hour, let them process what has happened."

"If I could give you the time, I would." Aragorn breathed as he stepped towards her, his calm, emotionless composure making anger rise in her chest, even as he raised a hand to lay it upon her shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

"And who decided that you are the one to take that time from us?" She cried, knocking away his hand with her own as she stepped back from him, "Look at us, we are leaderless- we need a moment to regroup-"

"Gandalf decided." He interrupted her, "He asked me to lead you in the mines."

She stared at him in shock for a moment, before gritting her teeth. If this is what Gandalf had wanted, she would not argue with their new leader's resolve.

"A true leader knows when to show compassion." She spat, "A leader should have a heart." She turned on her heel to march back to Merry and Pippin, forcing her body not to shake with her anger as she heard Aragorn instruct the others to get the Hobbits up. "Oh Pippin..." She breathed, kneeling to gather his weeping form into her arms, hugging him tightly and pulling Merry in to the embrace, "It's alright, we just need to get to somewhere safe- Gandalf wouldn't have wanted us to stay in this awful place." She breathed, helping them both to their feet.

As she gathered herself, setting her gaze on the distant forest they were to set out for, she tried to put herself back into the mindset of moving. Every muscle in her body screamed for her to rest, including her heart. All she wanted was to lay on the ground and cry. She wanted to hide herself away, allow herself to mourn the loss of her friend in peace, without the eyes of anyone else on her.

Instead she felt a cool grey gaze settle on her as Aragorn strode to her side, his demeanor distant and unwavering. "Will you walk at the rear? Make sure none fall behind?"

She only nodded grimly, refusing to meet his eyes as he asked her to take the position he had always walked in. Now he would walk at the head of the party. As he strode away to lead them from the mountainside, she turned to find Frodo unsteadily walking to her side.

"Come, Frodo." She whispered, wrapping her arm around his shoulders to support him. Loss shone from his brilliant blue eyes like a beacon, and all she wished was that she could shield him from it.

She could not though, she thought as they slowly began to walk, following the dark form of their new leader, she could not protect Frodo from this loss any more than she could bring Gandalf back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as always! Hope you lovely readers are still enjoying the story! X


	23. Chapter 23

_**Chapter 23** _

  
She was going to kill him.

She, Théadain, daughter of Théoden, would go down in history as the woman who personally throttled the Heir of Elendil and finally killed off what was clearly a line of handsome idiots.

For all his insistence that they needed to get to a place of safety, he seemed to have led them directly into a trap.

She had known little of the elves of Lothlórien, though they were closer in distance than the elves of Rivendell, there was little to no relationship between them and the people of Rohan. The elves kept their own company, shrouded in mystery as they dwelt in their golden forest to the North of Rohan, out beyond Fangorn and the Wold.

Well, she knew enough about them now to make up her mind. The haughty, silver-haired captain that led the ambush saw to that. She had not appreciated the arrows that poked into her arms as the company of elves had surrounded the exhausted Fellowship, mere steps into the promised safety of the woodland. She had cursed Aragorn's name under her breath as, for a moment, she believed they would be shot after running for hours to get away from the mines. They way the elves had looked at them - ragged, bruised and bloodstained as they were - like mud on their shoe had set Théadain's teeth on edge. If this had been Aragorn's plan, it was a terrible one. The fact that he had offered no words of reassurance as they were marched through the woods like common prisoners made her think that he thought the same.

Even Legolas, one of their own kin, was not given the chance to speak as they were hurried on, their tired feet stumbling over tree roots as night fell on the forest. Bathed in the light of the moon, they halted under a tree, an unseen signal from the elf-captain calling for a rope ladder to be tossed down from the branches above. Théadain had almost refused to climb it, in fact she was not sure she could, exhausted as she was. Nearly three days without rest, along with the emotional trauma of losing Gandalf had left her a mere shell of herself. She could barely speak, let alone climb a ladder.

She was however still certain that if the situation called for it, she could wring Aragorn's stupid neck.

Nonetheless, she hauled herself up, assisting the Halflings where she could as they struggled to navigate the swaying ladder.

"Where are they taking us?" Pippin whispered to her anxiously as she pushed him up towards the wooden platform the others had already climbed through.

"If they're not taking us somewhere we can sleep, then I'll be throwing myself off this tree." She growled, helping him up the last few metres and flopping onto the platform with a weary groan. She was so tired she felt physically sick, though she had not eaten anything in days. Slowly she rose to her feet, helping Pippin as she moved to stand by Boromir, who watched as the silver-haired captain approached Legolas and began speaking in their own tongue.

She frowned as she watched, not detecting any hostility in Legolas' voice or body language. As the elf moved to speak with Aragorn, she scowled. If this was their way of offering sanctuary, the elves had a funny way of showing it. If this had been Rivendell, she'd have been in a hot bath by now.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves. Speak words we can all understand!" Gimli growled with frustration as he glared at the elf.

"We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the dark days." The captain changed to speaking the common tongue with ease, looking down at Gimli with distain as Théa bristled.

"And you know what this dwarf says to that?" Gimli growled, proceeding to spit a string of words that Théadain didn't need to understand to hear the venom in them.

" _That_ was not so courteous." Aragorn frowned, turning to lay a warning hand on Gimli's shoulder.

"Why should we be courteous to one who holds us here with no explanation, and no introduction?" Théadain frowned, stepping forward to address the captain, "If you are a friend, then let us know your name."

The elf raised an eyebrow at her boldness but seemed to detect that the young woman who stood before him had little patience left. It seemed that sheer willpower was the only thing that stopped her swaying on her feet. "My name is Haldir of Lórien, Sheildmaiden, and I am Marchwarden of these woods." He looked her up and down as she set her gaze firmly on him; "It is my duty to apprehend all who would enter the home of my people. Especially those who bring such great evil here." He frowned as his gaze snapped to Frodo, as if he had detected the presence of the Ring. "You can go no further." He turned to tell Aragorn, pacing away from the company as the Ranger moved to follow him.

Théadain groaned with frustration and slumped against the trunk of the tree that supported the platform, squeezing her eyes shut. Perhaps they could go no further, but she would not move another inch without a rest.

Around her, the Fellowship gradually settled to the sounds of Aragorn pleading with Haldir, his voice effortlessly wrapping around the elvish language as he spoke. Théadain heard none of it, as she had dropped into a light sleep, her mind plagued by darkness and fire, demons and endless stone steps.

When Boromir's hand gently touched her cheek to rouse her, she had no idea how much time had passed, but it was not nearly enough.

"We're moving, they're letting us in." He breathed, helping her up as she nodded, moving to follow the elves.

*

All through the next day they walked, placing one weary foot in front of the other as they travelled under the golden trees. Théadain could admit to herself that the woods were beautiful, and desperately peaceful, but still she was uneasy.

As Haldir had led them into the heart of Caras Galadhon, the city of trees, she could not help but look around herself in awe. It seemed the elves of Lothlórien shared a skill with their kin in Rivendell, to craft the most beautiful dwellings she had ever seen, their design so effortless that it almost looked like the buildings had grown from the forest itself.

Night had begun to fall once again as they began to climb the spiralling flights of carved stairs to reach their promised resting place, though Legolas had warned them that the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn would wish to speak with them first.

Théadain had heard of the Lady of Light before, conflicting stories and rumour that reached the ears of men. A great elf queen, an evil enchantress, the most beautiful woman ever beheld by any living creature, one who had to power to see into the minds of those who entered her wood... Théa did not know what to believe, and so settled on anticipating anything. Though when the Fellowship were finally assembled on the high platform, she did not think she had prepared herself for how strikingly beautiful the Lord and Lady would be. They seemed to emit their own ethereal glow, a light that shone down on the nine raggedly dressed travellers, contrasting the elegant, draped clothing of the elves. Both the Lord and Lady had the same pale gold hair, and porcelain skin that resembled that of a statue. Dressed all in white and silver, they appeared every inch the powerful leaders they were. Before them, Théadain suddenly felt very small. When the Lord Celeborn spoke, it was slow, the words of one who had all the time in the world to get out what he had to say and was used to those around him having the time to listen.

"The enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone." He spoke clearly, his eyes travelling over each member of the Fellowship, "Nine there are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar." Théadain's breath caught in her throat at his words, wondering who would be the one to tell him what had happened.

" Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land." She looked up in surprise as the Lady Galadriel spoke, "He has fallen into shadow."

"He was taken by both shadow and flame." Legolas spoke softly, a hint of bitterness in his tone as he explained, "A balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

Théa flinched a little at the word 'needless', knowing how it would pain Gimli.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his full purpose." The Lady soothed, her eyes casting over the Fellowship. Whatever words left her mouth next, Théadain did not hear them, as other words washed over her mind, like waves on a shore.

 _"You are strong, daughter of Rohan."_ She looked up in alarm at the sound of Galadriel's voice in her head, _"You carry the weight of all your lands and people on your shoulders when the weight could be shared. Do not hide yourself away from those who care for you. There is no shame in showing weakness to those that only seek to protect you."_

She swallowed thickly, as the words whispered through her mind and vanished like leaves in the breeze. She barely heard the Lady grant the Fellowship permission to rest, absorbed as she was by the power the elf held, and the words she had chosen to bestow upon her.

*

It was decided that the Fellowship would make camp on the ground, as the height of the platforms in the trees made Gimli and the Hobbits uneasy, and Théadain admitted she would sleep better on solid ground than suspended in the air.  
Nestled amongst the roots of a mighty _mallorn_ tree, silver-haired elves laid out a comfortable-looking sleeping area and brought food, water, and supplies to tend to their wounds. Moving behind the tree for privacy, Théadain carefully stripped herself down to her shirt and breeches, settling herself on a root and gasping in pain as she peeled her leather vambrace from the wound that scarred her left forearm. In the days since she had received it, an ugly scab had formed, which she disturbed as she tossed aside the sturdy leather that had prevented a worse injury. Grimacing at her ruined, bloodstained shirt she roughly tore the sleeve away at the shoulder, carefully trying to part the torn fabric from where it had fused with the scab. Gritting her teeth, she gave up and tugged the cloth free, hissing as blood welled up from her split flesh.

"Théa, you're hurt." Legolas breathed as he moved to her side from where he had been walking past, crouching to catch her left hand in his own as fresh blood trickled down her fingers. He had changed into fresh clothes, and like the other elves, seemed to shine in the sliver light cast by the many lanterns. For a moment she looked at him, the words 'I'm alright' almost leaving her lips, before she remembered the words that the Lady Galadriel had spoken in her head. _There is no shame in showing weakness._

"In every possible way my friend." She whispered grimly, reaching for the bowl of water she had been left by one of the Lothlórien elves and dipping a clean cloth into it. "I am bruised and battered and bleeding, but more than anything else my heart hurts."

"As does mine." He murmured, moving to pry the wet cloth from her fingers so he could carefully clean the wound for her, "I have not felt such loss since the death of my mother... I had almost forgotten the feeling."

"It never goes away then?" She smiled sadly, looking up into his eyes of the elf who had already lived longer than any man could dream to.

"No, it eases, but it does not go away." He whispered as he carefully cleaned the blood both fresh and dried from her arm, apologising softly as she winced, "Aragorn is a skilled healer, you should let him tend to you."

"No." She shook her head with a sigh, "I would rather not see him, I spoke so harshly to him outside Moria, and I was so angry when I thought he had led us in to a trap..." She shook her head and looked around, "I see now that I was wrong."

"Ah, you can admit it to me, but not to him?" The elf's piercing blue eyes glimmered with amusement as she smothered a smile.

"Perhaps I am too proud." She shrugged, "I know he is the best out of all of us to lead the Fellowship, but I don't think I can follow him in the unquestioning way I followed Gandalf."

"Would you wish for your own men to follow you unquestioningly?" He raised an eyebrow as he held her wrist gently to keep her still.

"I... No." She admitted with a sigh, "I am not a perfect leader, and I value the input of those that follow me. A second perspective is always needed." He looked at her meaningfully, a small smile playing on his lips as she rolled her eyes, applying her own words to the situation at hand, "Don't say anything, princeling. I know." She huffed, "I'll apologise once you've bandaged my arm."

"I don't think I shall." He hummed, standing gracefully and looking around as the Fellowship began to settle into their camp. "My skill will not compare to a more experienced healer, and the bleeding has stopped."

She smiled fondly up at him, knowing exactly what he was doing, "Thank you Legolas." She sighed, moving to stand, rolling her shoulders as the soft sound of singing drifted through the air to them, "Take some rest, my friend. Let your heart begin to heal."

"Only if you treat your heart with the same kindness." He murmured, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder before walking away to prepare to sleep. Left alone, she tipped out the bowl of bloodied water and refilled it from a silver pitcher, balancing the bowl on a root as she began to wash her face. Watching the grime gather in the bowl as she cleaned her smaller cuts and abrasions carefully, she grimaced at how she must look. She didn't want to think of how long it had been since she'd last bathed properly, in an icy river the day before they moved to tackle the Redhorn Pass. It felt like years ago, when in reality it was just over a week; it had been the longest week of her life.

She refilled the bowl three more times as she washed, having dug in her pack to retrieve the only other shirt and breeches she had carried with her, which she'd thankfully also washed in the mountain river. Carefully she changed, wincing as her body ached in protest at the motion, but she admitted that she felt better, and very likely smelt better for her efforts. She rolled up the sleeves of her soft grey shirt, exposing the jagged wound on her forearm to the air once more. With a small sigh she set her jaw determinedly – it was time to lay aside her pride and go speak with Aragorn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you lovely readers are still enjoying! I'd love to hear what you think so please feel free to drop a comment! X


	24. Chapter 24

_**Chapter 24** _

  
The low, mournful singing of the elves cascaded down from the trees above, the meaning of their words lost to Théadain. Yet still, as she walked barefoot over the fallen _mallorn_ leaves that littered their camp, she felt the sadness of their words settling on her heart.

She had not yet allowed herself to cry for Gandalf. She had buried that need deep down outside the Mines of Moria, in favour of staying strong for the Hobbits, but now she felt it digging its way back to the surface of her emotions. Still, she could not allow it out yet, she had to make peace with Aragorn before she could allow herself to rest.

 _"A leader should have a heart."_ Her own spiteful words rang in her ears as she padded around to where the airy canvas shelter had been set up for the Fellowship over the roots of their tree. She could see each of the Halflings nestled amongst the boughs, listening to the song.

"A lament for Gandalf." Legolas murmured where he stood, listening. His eyes flickered to Théadain, noting her unbandaged wound as she hovered at the edge of the camp.

"What do they say about him?" Merry asked softly.

"I have not the heart to tell you." Legolas whispered softly, "For me the grief is still too near."

"For all of us." Théadain softly reassured the elf that he was not alone, the words catching in her throat as she tried to summon the strength to duck beneath the canvas to where Aragorn sat, sharpening his sword carefully. Instead, her eyes settled on the form of Boromir, seated on the root of a tree some distance away. He had not taken the time to change or wash, and Théa had seen the tense way he had held himself since they had descended from Lady Galadriel's quarters. He flinched a little as she padded over to settle beside him, but relaxed as he saw who it was.

She said nothing, sitting in companionable silence as Boromir turned to study her. Her usually bright eyes were dark with exhaustion, her hair hanging loose and unkempt on her slumped shoulders. A dark bruise blossomed on her pale forehead at her hairline, and he could see a painful-looking red split tarnishing her full lower lip. For the first time he thought she looked defeated, as if only now she was letting the weight of what had happened settle on her. He imagined he looked similar, haunted by the words of the Lady of Light that had echoed in his head, he was glad for the distraction of Théadain's presence.

"I have never seen you fight in earnest." He murmured softly after a moment, "In the tomb. You fought well."

"You expected anything less?" She smiled wryly, "And you called me Lioness. I had not realised my reputation had spread so far as Gondor."

"They truly call you that, then?" He wondered as she leaned her elbows on her knees.

"Some do, I don't particularly care for it." She shrugged, "I always thought it was strange, that they named me for a creature hunted to extinction by our people. Mountain lions have not been seen in Rohan in hundreds of years, they used to come down from the hills to occasionally steal a horse, but the men of our land persecuted them relentlessly for it." She frowned, looking down at her hands, "What does that say about me then? A lioness who will eventually be struck from existence by men?"

"Perhaps it is merely a comment on your ferocity." Boromir smiled gently, "Do not think your people will be in a hurry to forget you, Théadain."

"They will." She shrugged, picking at her nails, "I am the bastard daughter of the king, by rights I should not exist, and history will see to it that my name is forgotten. I will wear no crown, and I will bear no heirs to the throne, there will be no need to remember another Marshal of the Mark, for that is all I shall ever be."

"You are already more than just a Marshal." He reassured her softly, looking up at the sound of footsteps, not missing the way Théadain tensed as Aragorn strode in to view. He had thought for a while that his friend held an affection for the Man of the North, he had seen it in the way she looked at him when their quest had first begun, but that fondness seemed to have been hidden away, replaced with same easy companionship she shared with all members of the Fellowship.

"Take some rest. These borders are well protected." Their new leader murmured softly to them both, his eyes wandering over Théadain's wounded arm as she glanced away to avoid his gaze.

"I will find no rest here." Boromir admitted softly, feeling the questioning eyes of both of his companions turn to him. "I heard a voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me, even now, there is hope left, but I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." He sighed at the pained tone of his voice, not having expected voicing his thoughts to have such an impact on him. As Aragorn moved to sit at his side, mirroring Théa's position, he continued; "My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing, and now our... our people lose faith."

He felt Théadain gently place her hand upon his bicep at his words, knowing the plight of his homeland was not dissimilar to hers. "He looks to me to make things right, and I would do it, I would see the glory of Gondor restored." He turned to look at the man at his side, the man destined to sit upon the throne of his city. At first he had been bitter at the sudden appearance of this heir, but in the time he had known Aragorn, he had come to respect him, he would make a fitting king; "Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze?" His expression turned to one of fondness as he thought of his homeland, "Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"

Théadain gazed at her friend as she listened, feeling a pull in her chest as he spoke of his home, her own thoughts turning to Rohan. It was not silver trumpets that called her home, but hoofbeats and horns. She could picture it now, Edoras in the days of joy she had shared with her family in years past. When she pictured returning home, that was what she saw. She could see the weight lifting from Boromir as he spoke of Gondor, and she was glad. She had not realised that he was so haunted by the same thoughts as she was, the fear that her lands would fall, the pressure of knowing that the people looked to her for answers.

"I have seen the White City, long ago." Aragorn murmured softly in response to Boromir's question, a reluctance in his tone that Théadain knew she had heard before. A tone he had used as they stood clutching each other's hands in front of a broken sword in Rivendell.

"One day, our paths will lead us there," Boromir smiled, not hearing Aragorn's hesitance, "And the tower guard shall take up the call, _The Lords of Gondor have returned_!"

Théa watched as Aragorn only granted Boromir a small nod, pursing his lips a little. It was enough for the Gondorian who rose, bidding them a soft goodnight as he walked to their camp, his spirit light and filled with thoughts of homecoming. She echoed his farewell, watching her friend stride away before shifting her gaze to the forest that lay before her, not quite ready to let herself look at Aragorn yet. She could not bear to meet his eyes and see anger there, or worse, hurt. She had been so careful to distance herself from the affection she held for him, she feared she had forgotten that he was still her friend.

She felt him rise slowly, and for a moment she was afraid her silence had driven him away as she watched him move back to their small camp, but he returned. He settled beside her to close the gap that Boromir had left between them on the tree root, setting a dish of supplies between their bodies. Silently, he held out his large hand, his eyes pointedly fixed on the angry gash on her arm. With a small sigh Théadain turned her body, holding out her arm and allowing him to catch her wrist gently. She watched as his calloused, warm fingers moved over her pale skin with a careful tenderness, lightly touching the edges of the wound, where her skin flared a raw pink.

"It's not as deep as I feared." He murmured softly, reaching to scoop a fingerful of a pale green salve from the dish, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it.

"No..." She agreed quietly, wincing as he gently began to massage the ointment over her wound. It smelt bright and herbal, the scent calming her thoughts even as it stung her torn flesh. He held her wrist firmly to stop her flinching back as he carefully coated the injury, holding his hand over it for a long moment. She watched curiously as he seemed to focus on her arm; whether he was just letting the heat of his hand melt the salve into her skin, or if his focus implied that he called upon some deeper skill to heal her, she did not know, and she dared not ask. She had not realised she was holding her breath until he lifted his hand, her skin tingling as cool air rushed in to claim where he had warmed. A soft sigh left her lips as he reached for a roll of clean linen, beginning to slowly wrap it around her forearm, starting at her wrist. She allowed him to turn and touch her hand as he bandaged her wound, tearing the thin fabric with ease before carefully tying off the end just below her elbow.

Théa sat, staring at the neat bandage hiding her injury, her chest heavy with a weight she couldn't put into words, watching as Aragorn's fingers lingered on her skin, holding her wrist gently in both hands. Hesitantly, she curled her fingers around his hand in return, trying to imply that she didn't want him to let go. How he found the strength to be so kind to her when she had been nothing but ungrateful and cruel, she did not know.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, fixing her eyes on his hand so he could not see the tears that pooled there as guilt washed over her. "I'm sorry Aragorn- what I said outside the mines, it wasn't fair- I didn't mean..."

He silenced her words as one of his hands moved to cup her cheek, cradling her jaw as he drew her glistening eyes up to meet his, seeing the clear guilt and grief that swam in their ochre depths. On that barren mountainside, her words had struck him painfully, but he had forced himself to ignore it at the time. None of them had been in control of their emotions, it had been a struggle to think clearly, to assess the danger they were in. He had almost given in to her request for time to rest, but he could never have forgiven himself if he'd left them vulnerable to another attack. Still, the resentment in her eyes, the anger that had rolled off her in waves as she swayed on her feet, exhausted but still ready to fight him – it had hurt. Made him question Gandalf's choice to ask him to lead.

Now her eyes were different, pleading and anguished as she gazed up at him, trembling breaths forcing her tears not to fall. He could have kissed her then, in that moment. He could have swept her into his arms to reassure her that he could not resent what she had said. He longed to pour out the tangled mess of longing and grieving that tugged at his heart with some physical act – to make contact with another soul whom he was so drawn to and seek comfort in that contact.

But that would not be fair, not on the young woman who clutched at his hand so desperately. She was heartbroken and physically drained; even if she _had_ expressed the same desire to seek comfort in him, now was not the time. Instead, he settled for gently pulling her into his arms, wrapping himself around her trembling body and cradling her against his chest.

As his arms closed around her, silently communicating his forgiveness and a promise of safety and comfort, she crumbled. The carefully constructed barrier that held back her tide of anguish fell, and she sobbed openly into Aragorn's shoulder. Everything that she had held on to for so long, the loss of Gandalf, her fear for the quest, for her friends and the ever-present underlying terror that she had failed her homeland and family. She felt his hold tighten as she wrapped her arms around his firm torso, a gentle hand on her hair stroking and soothing as she wept, saying nothing as he let her mourn her losses.

After a while, her sobs quietened to soft hiccups and sniffs, her tears still flowing freely down her cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his shirt. Still he did not let her go, making no indication that he judged her expression of emotion, only holding her tighter in a silent promise that he would be there for as long as she needed. She started a little as she felt the brush of his lips on her forehead, laying a tender comforting kiss on her brow. It was as he lingered there, she felt his own tears fall to her skin, as he finally allowed his own heart to process its loss. He pressed his face into her crown of fiery hair, taking his comfort from her warmth in his arms, and the understanding they shared that it was finally alright to let go of their careful hold on their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my absolute favourite chapters in the entire story, I hope you lovely readers liked it just as much!  
> Please do leave a comment if you're enjoying the story, it really means so much to hear! X


	25. Chapter 25

_**Chapter 25** _

  
Under the golden leaves of the great _mallorn_ trees of Lothlórien, the Fellowship began to heal. As days of quiet comfort and peace passed, their wounds bothered them less, and their hearts began to feel lighter.

Each evening, Aragorn would silently approach Théadain's side, a light touch to her shoulder signalling that he wished to change the dressing on her arm. They barely spoke during these interactions, but there was a closeness now that they had not shared before. His touches became more familiar, a gentle hand on her lower back guiding her close to him so he could unwind her bandages, a careful brush of his fingers sweeping strands of hair from her eyes – it was dangerous.

Théadain could feel it, the same longing she had stamped down when they had left Rivendell. As her desperate need for comfort had left her, his touches took on a new intensity. They made her skin burn and her soul thrill with each moment of contact, and she was just as guilty of the same, finding excuses to move close to him, to brush her fingers over his or lay her head on his shoulder as he worked over her arm. She knew she should not let herself, it was idiotic to allow her attraction to grow, to develop into an attachment that would be painful to break. For break it must, Gandalf's fall had cemented that thought in her mind. Their road was a dangerous one, and she could not allow an attachment between them to cloud his judgement in battle, or hers. Even if she and Aragorn both survived, their paths led them to different worlds. He would go with Boromir to Gondor, his loyal Steward who would support his claim to the throne – she would return to the plains of Rohan, to serve whatever king she found there. Whether it would be her father or brother, she could not guess.

Yet still, they did not speak of a connection, or a fondness for one another. They had made no tender whispered promises, no indication that they sought more, so perhaps these stolen moments of affection were harmless. Simply two souls seeking moments of reassurance, an outlet for emotions and to meet needs that would otherwise be neglected.

Though Théadain knew she was a lost fool by the way her heart leapt when she met his eyes, the way he lingered in her thoughts as she drifted off to sleep, and even her intrusive dreams of wandering hands and the feeling of warm lips on her neck. She would need all of her will to break free of this, and yet she didn't want to.

She was not even certain that Aragorn felt the same way; there were moments when she thought she saw an affection in his gaze that seemed reserved only for her, or she caught his eyes wandering to her lips in their stolen moments of peace. He was also careful to reserve his searing touches for when they were alone, for once or twice he had forgotten. One morning he had thoughtlessly reached out to cup her cheek, checking a healing bruise on her jaw before Legolas had cast him a questioning look, and he had withdrawn.

It was maddening, but she tried as much as she could not to dwell on it, for she knew that the time drew near for the Fellowship to leave their sanctuary of trees. Outside of the guarded borders of Lothlórien, the quest beckoned.

In discussions with the Marchwarden, Haldir, it was decided that the safest course for the Fellowship would be to strike out on boats down the Riven Anduin. They were under no illusion that the enemy now knew of their quest, if Saruman was aware of their purpose, Sauron was also likely to know. Taking the river would be their best chance of getting one step ahead of the enemy.

And so, several peaceful days after their arrival, they found themselves once more standing before the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, furnished with fresh provisions of _lembas_ bread and clothed in light, yet warm green cloaks, fastened with a brooch shaped after the elves' beloved _mallorn_ leaves. The gifts given with the promise that the cloaks would help shield them from the gaze of the enemy.

Theadain watched as the Lady of Light approached each member of the Fellowship, bestowing gifts of bows, daggers, rope – and exchanging a gracious laugh and a few quiet words with Gimli, before standing before the Sheildmaiden with a fond smile. Suddenly Théadain felt shy under her gaze, though her eyes were warm and glimmered with laughter after what had transpired between herself and the dwarf, unheard by the others.

"My Lady," Théa dipped her head respectfully, "I cannot ask a gift of you, I need nothing, the shelter and the peace you have granted us here was all that I could have wished for."

"I am glad of it, for your heart leaves us lighter, Daughter of Rohan." Galadriel smiled, reaching out to lay her delicate hand on the woman's cloaked shoulder, "Indeed, I can give you no material gift, but the one I leave you with will serve you just as faithfully. My gift to you is my word; when your need is greatest, we stand with you, Théadain, daughter of Théoden."

"I... Thank you my lady." She whispered in reply, unsure of whether she fully understood the words, but knowing in her heart that she would come to see their meaning, in time. However, she dreaded to think of what would transpire for her to need to call on the promise of Galadriel. The elf had already moved on though, drawing Aragorn aside to speak with him. Théa cast a small glance at the man as she moved to help prepare their boats, carefully helping Frodo and Sam into one as Legolas offered Gimli a hand down into the boat she would share with them.

With their farewells said, and Aragorn settled in his boat with Frodo and Sam, Legolas carefully pushed their boat from the riverbank, handing Théadain a paddle so they could set their course down the tributary to meet the great flow of the Anduin. She could not stop her eyes from drifting to Aragorn's face as he paddled his boat out, seeing the grim expression he had carried since Celeborn had pulled him away to speak.

"Keep your eyes forward, Théa." Legolas smiled, and she blushed a little as she set her gaze back to the river. In truth, a boat was far from her first choice of transportation; she longed to sit astride a horse once more, but she was nowhere near as uncomfortable in the vessel as Gimli and the Hobbits seemed to be. Behind her, Gimli softly lamented leaving the forest, recounting his interaction with Galadriel. Théadain smiled to herself as she looked ahead, listening as he revealed that the Lady had bestowed upon him three hairs from her head, in response to his request for one. She almost made a quip about how the dwarf had never requested such a gift from _her,_ but upon hearing his earnest tone of voice, she chose to remain quiet as she paddled.

*

Their journey downstream would span a number of days, saving them potentially weeks of walking on foot. Though Théadain's thoughts often lay on the Western bank of the river, part of her wishing they had chosen to walk that path. That riverbank marked Rohan's Easterly boarder, and she knew that beyond the densely wooded land that bordered the river, her own lands were within touching distance.

That first night they had drawn the boats up on the Western shore she had stood, gazing into the trees longingly. She knew her feet were planted on her own soil, but it did not feel like it yet. Beyond the woods lay the great grassy plains of the Wold, their Northernmost region. South of that, further down the river, they would run parallel to East Emnet, a land she knew well from her patrols. The temptation to strike out for home lingered in the pit of her stomach, but it was chased away when she made herself turn back to her companions, her Fellowship. She could not leave them now.

Still, she offered to take the late watches, staying awake long into the night, listening vainly for the sounds of hoofbeats. If a patrol met them, she could pass word to Théodred, or Éomer. The riders may even carry news of her father, though she was not sure she could bear to hear it. The thought also played on her mind that the patrols may not now contain men who would be loyal to her and her family, she remembered well how Grima had surrounded himself with men whose loyalty he could buy – perhaps he had already spread his influence to the companies of the Rohirrim.

On their third evening, as the sun began to dip in the sky, they made their camp at the edge of the woods, on the rocky bank of the river. Aragorn seemed reluctant to move deeper into the woods, and even Legolas would not venture far beneath the trees. Something they would not speak of made them uneasy, almost as if they feared they were being followed. Théadain did not feel the same fear, though she knew her homeland had been troubled by attacks, there were no settlements nearby to draw orcs or Wildmen near the river. She volunteered to search the forest for firewood, closely followed by Merry and Pippin at Aragorn's request that none of them should venture off alone.

"What's Rohan like?" Merry frowned after she had softly informed them of how close she was to home, bending to lift a branch and casting it away as he decided it wasn't dry enough for the fire.

"Beautiful. Vast." Théadain sighed longingly as she broke a bough across her knee to make it easy to carry, "But our halls are warm, and in good times the food and ale flows more freely than you could dream." She smiled fondly as Pippin grinned at the mention of food, "I hope when I return I will see those days again, and that our people will be happy. I think you would like it there."

"Then you must take us." Merry smiled, hefting a dry log into his arms as Pippin balanced his armful of branches.

"Will this be enough, d'you think?" He asked, receiving a nod from Théa as they moved back to the camp. As she set down their offering where Sam had started a fire, she felt a hand on her lower back, supporting her as she straightened.

"No trouble in the woods?" Aragorn's low murmur in her ear almost made her shiver, as she resisted the urge to step towards him.

"None." She smiled reassuringly, meeting his anxious gaze, "I have told you, there would be more danger on the Eastern shore, there would be no reason for enemies to come so far East on this side."

"Unless we are being followed." He uttered grimly, stepping away to check on the boats. She watched him with a small scowl as frustration tugged at her. There was something he wasn't telling them, he couldn't stop moving. Last night as she had sat keeping watch he had tossed and turned into the night, until she had seen him rise to pace the edge of the forest, before he moved to insist to her that he could not sleep, and that she should rest whilst he kept watch.

Shrugging off her coat, Théadain sniffed at herself with a grimace. The effort of paddling the boat for two days had taken its toll on the freshness of her clothing, and she longed for a wash. She had spotted a small stream in the woods that would serve her purpose, as she couldn't very well strip off in front of her companions and leap into the Anduin. She smiled to herself as she reached for her pack, gathering the fresh clothing the elves had gifted her with and tucking it under her arm before she straightened and slipped into the forest. She had thought to mention where she was going to Legolas, but knew he would object to her going into the woods alone – she would be done with her washing before he even noticed she was gone.

Following the path she had taken with Merry and Pippin earlier, she came across the shallow stream, following it a little further into the woods to see if it would get deeper. As the ground sloped upwards, she was rewarded with the discovery of a small pool, fed by a trickling waterfall that snaked down from the higher ground, and sheltered by a few boulders that she could drape her clothes over. It looked deep enough to submerge herself in, and she gladly tugged her clothes off, eager to be free of the stale smell of the weary traveller. She shivered in the cool evening air as she used her teeth to tug the bandage from her forearm, laying it carefully on the boulder with her clean clothes before stepping off the stone to plunge her naked body into the water.

It was cold, breathtakingly so, and as Théa's feet met the rocky bed of the pool she pushed off, breaking the surface with a gasp. In the centre of the pool, she had to tread water to keep herself afloat, but at the edges she could stand comfortably. Dunking her head once more under the surface, she ran her fingers through the stands of her hair, silky and pliable now it was suspended in the water. She longed for her bath at home, and the soothing scent of the dried lavender she would sprinkle on the water, the scent she would carry in her hair for days after washing it.

Thoughtfully, she swam to the edge of the pool, brushing her fingers through the small plants that grew there before she found what she was searching for. With a pleased grin she snapped a few leaves from the little water mint plant and crushed them in her hands to release their fresh, clean scent, before rubbing the pulp through the lengths of her hair.

It wasn't lavender and a hot bath, but it would do.

Twisting her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, she rested her back against the edge of the pool and began to wash her body, taking her time to make sure she got the mud out from beneath her nails and carefully running her hand over her healing arm. Listening to the sound of the waterfall, and breathing in the fresh scent of the crushed leaf as she stood in the soft light of the setting sun, she felt a moment of true peace wash over her for the first time in days.

That was, until she heard the sound of a branch snapping in the forest behind her. 


	26. Chapter 26

**_Chapter 26_ **

  
At the sound of the branch snapping, her body jerked from relaxation to readiness, sinking lower into the water as her hand snaked to the pile of clothes behind her to grip her dagger. If something unfriendly approached, she could perhaps hide under the surface of the water until it passed – but her clothes would be seen. Gritting her teeth at the thought of being attacked naked and vulnerable, she pushed herself up to try and catch a glimpse of whatever was approaching, her free hand reaching for her cloak to cover her chest.

" _Aragorn?"_ She spluttered as she recognised his familiar form standing with his back to her, a short distance away beneath the trees, "Gods above- don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Théa?" He breathed, his voice filled with relief as he turned, and then swiftly turned away again with a soft choked sound as he caught a glimpse of her bare shoulders over the edge of the stone she leaned on. "I- Forgive me, Legolas said you had wandered off and I-"

"Thought I needed protecting?" She raised an eyebrow, releasing her dagger and sinking down into the water.

"Thought you shouldn't be alone." He clarified, his shoulders hunching with discomfort as he focused on the tree in front of him.

She sighed as she watched him, her fingers moving to run through her wet hair, "For goodness sake Aragorn turn around, it's only me. I'm not that dreadful to look at. A body is a body, not some terrible secret."

Reluctantly he turned, and she laughed as she saw his eyes trying to settle anywhere but on her, "Or make it even, join me." She shrugged, kicking off from the edge with her feet and swimming back into the centre of the pool, "You said I shouldn't be alone, come and keep me company. I won't look." She smiled and turned to look out into the woods on the other side of the pool, tipping her head back to rinse her hair in the cool water as she waited for him to say something. She was not embarrassed to be seen, she was far too practical to believe that it was the end of the world for another being to see her body. Not that she thought it was anything special anyway, legs and arms and all of the necessary parts, it was a vessel for who she was, not the sole focus of her identity nor her value.

She smiled to herself at the soft splash behind her, the ripples caused by him entering the pool reaching her shoulders and making her shiver at the chill of the water. She listened as he wordlessly began to wash himself, the sound of his hands scooping the water onto his body drowning out the trickling of the waterfall. Cautiously, she glanced over her shoulder, laughing softly as he met her gaze; "I know- I said I wouldn't look." She grinned, swimming back a little until she was in her depth, letting her feet follow the slope of the ground until her back met the stone edge, not far from where he stood. Slowly she resumed washing herself, closing her eyes to scrub water over her face as they lapsed into the easy silence they had come to enjoy sharing. There was a certain vulnerability, she felt, in standing so close to him, sharing something as personal and intimate as bathing, yet saying nothing, not acknowledging that the water that lapped at her collarbone did little to conceal her submerged body, or that it would only take a few steps for her to be able to touch his.

"Do you behave like this with your company?" He asked softly after a moment, keeping his own eyes fixed on the neutral territory of the forest as she smiled.

"You mean do I bathe with my men? No." She shook her head, "No, it's easier with them if I don't keep reminding them that I'm a woman. It makes it easier for them to respect me if they don't know what I look like undressed." She cast him a playful glance out of the corner of her eye, "My roles are carefully set out, when I am a Marshal, I am not a woman, I am a soldier. Other times I am the daughter of the king, and I am expected to be gracious and feminine."

"Is it difficult, going between the two?" He murmured softly.

"Sometimes," She nodded, washing the back of her neck thoughtfully, "Sometimes I am hardly sure of who I am. I want to be all of those things at once, a soldier, a respected leader who rides out to battle alongside her men; but I also want to be a woman, I want to be clean and soft, wear a dress if I wish without my brother laughing at me..." She shook her head, "I don't know which of those two people I am, it would be nice for someone to see me as both. Men see one or the other, either the soldier or the girl, and they only desire one of those options. They don't often like that I come with two sides." She bit her lip at her admission, looking down at her hands beneath the water.

"I do not see two people." Aragorn murmured softly at her side, "I see _you_ Théadain. You do not need to tear yourself in two. You are all those things that you want to be. Those who care for you can see it."

She glanced at him in surprise, a light flush rising on her cheeks as she looked at him properly for the first time. Submerged to his shoulders in the water, what she could see of his body was every inch what she had dared to imagine. There was something powerfully raw about the way his muscular shoulders moved as he ran his hand over his firm chest, not as excessively muscled as some men she had seen, but nonetheless impressive. Unconsciously, she stepped towards him, her hand reaching to lightly trace a scar that circled his bicep, the fact that she was growing cold in the water forgotten. He shivered under the touch to his bare skin, watching her closely as she moved to his side.

"Théa..." He whispered warningly as her fingers danced over another pale scar, one that crossed his collarbone, a physical reminder of a fight he couldn't recall now. He was certain she would be able to feel his heart thudding under her fingers. It would be so easy now, to give in to the longing he felt, to pull her into his arms and capture her full, beautiful lips with his own.

"You feel it too, don't you?" She whispered tentatively, looking up to meet his stormy gaze; "This feeling that keeps drawing us together?"

"You have been fighting it." He breathed, gently catching her hand to cease her tracing of his scar, laying her palm over his racing heart.

"It scares me..." She admitted, feeling the warmth radiating from him under her palm, and the rapid beat of his heart that matched her own; "If I was to act on this feeling, I fear it could ruin everything, Aragorn..." She looked up to meet his unreadable gaze, his lips parting slightly as he studied her face with those intense, grey eyes; "Though... Just this once, I want to give in..."

She hesitantly glanced at his lips as his large hands moved to grip her biceps, his eyes darkening with an unrestrained longing she had not seen before. For a moment he held her there, caught in his gaze; as if giving her a chance to reconsider, to withdraw her consent, to push him away and call him a fool - as she _should_ do. They shouldn't indulge in this, they shouldn't be playing this game, she should never have allowed herself to end up here... Here, mere inches between their submerged bodies, his warm breath ghosting over her lips as he watched her, waiting for her to pull back; before he could wait no longer, almost lifting her off her feet in the water as he brought his lips to meet hers, closing the narrowing gap between their faces.

It was blinding, the warmth, the gentle intensity, the earthy scent of his skin and the careful pressure of a man desperately trying to rein in his longing to throw himself into this stolen moment.

In response, she clutched at his shoulders; pulling herself as close against his chest as she dared, being careful not to fully lose herself to the glorious way he flooded her senses. It was unlike any kiss she had experienced before, the way his his lips moved over hers - firm yet gentle, demanding yet cautious - her heart hammered traitorously in her chest at the sudden thrill of the searing moment. There was something desperate in the way he held her, letting her know he had longed for this too. As if he was drowning and she was his air. Though all too soon he pulled away, his breath coming in shallow pants as he looked down at her, feeling her beginning to shiver in his arms from the chill of the water, or perhaps she was quivering at the intensity of his kiss, "Théadain..."

"Once more..." She pleaded softly, longing to lose herself for another moment, to know nothing but the feel of his skin, his masculine scent and the taste of his lips. She trembled involuntarily at the low groan that left his throat as he cupped her cheek to draw her close once more.

He had to force himself to move slowly, to savour the way she clutched herself to him, the tiny sound of delight that escaped her as their lips met. If this was what she needed, if this was her escape, he could live with it. What he wasn't sure he could live with was the prospect of ' _just this once_ '.

It meant he could not have this again, could not explore the undeniable pull between them any more than he could in this moment. He couldn't feel her soft skin beneath his hands again, nor taste the sweet sigh of longing that fell between their joined lips... Her lips that trembled now, betraying the way she had been trying to ignore the chill of the water they stood in.

"You're cold, Théa..." He whispered tenderly into her lips as she reluctantly broke away, soothing his thumb over her cheek as she nodded, trying to catch her breath as she laid her forehead against his shoulder, drinking in a few last precious moments of contact. He had been so careful to only touch her arms, her face, and she had done the same, despite the fact they were laid bare before each other. It could have been so easy to get carried away, to go further than those longing kisses, but she sensed some noble chivalry in him prevented that.

She unwillingly stepped away to climb from the pool, whilst he forced himself to look away at where the light of the setting sun painted the clouds a fiery orange. Almost the same shade as her hair, he mused as he listened to her dressing herself. He marvelled at his own restraint, at how he'd been able to let her go when he had realised the chill of the water was too much for her, though she herself didn't seem to notice her shaking.

After a moment, he climbed out after her, noting the way she had carefully angled her body away from the pool as she tugged her boots on, her damp hair still dripping onto the forest floor. He dressed quickly, not caring that his skin was still damp as he tugged on his clothes, carefully belting his sheathed sword to his hip once more as he recovered it from the ground.

"We should get back, they'll be wondering where we are." Théadain whispered, daring to glance back at him and breathing a sigh of relief as she saw he was dressed. Clothing was safe, a barrier. It took away that sense of vulnerability, and the intense intimacy they had shared in the water.

The moment _had_ to have passed now, she would be able to control herself around Aragorn now that she had given in and fulfilled that need to kiss him. It was simply a release of the tension that crackled between them, a way for her to fulfil that troublesome need to feel wanted. It was a physical act and nothing more.

Or so she told herself as he strode over, his eyes cautious as he looked into hers, as if trying to decipher her thoughts. "I... Aragorn... We can't give in again."

He sighed, reaching to lay his hand on her cheek once more, leaning in to lay an affectionate yet chaste kiss on her lips, "Just this once?" He whispered tenderly, feeling her fighting against the urge to follow his lips.

"Just this once." She breathed regretfully in agreement, though every fibre of her being drew her to melt into his arms again. "There are too many reasons not to do this... The quest, the others, who we are..."

He sighed and nodded, unable to argue with her reasoning as he softly pressed his lips to the top of her head, breathing in the fresh scent of water mint before turning to walk back through the forest to the camp, before he could say something she wouldn't want to hear.

She swallowed thickly as she watched him go, taking a moment before snatching up the last of her things to follow him.

*

She could not tell if things had changed outwardly between them, she and Aragorn spoke so little over the course of their day in the boats. Though, she thought Legolas sensed a tension between them, in the way they were so careful not to even brush past each other. If he noticed, he said nothing, seemingly preoccupied with keeping a close eye on the riverbank as they paddled.

That night they once again tugged the boats up onto the Western shore, and Théadain allowed herself an evening huddled by the fire, helping Sam with their meal. Part of her wanted to catch a moment alone with Aragorn, to try an explain the conflicting thoughts that raced through her head, but she could see now as he kept watch over the river, he had more to worry about than whatever was going on between them. Besides, they had agreed not to let it happen again. That one beautiful, shared moment had passed, and should be laid to rest. Yet still she could not forget the way he had looked at her, how he had held her so tenderly to his body and how he had kissed her so desperately.

Carefully, she laid out her bedroll by the fire, settling down though she sensed she would get little rest. Beside her, Sam had prompted Frodo to try and get more sleep, the Ringbearer looking the most weary out of all of them. Théadain sighed as she pulled her cloak around herself, turning to watch the river flowing by as the sound of Boromir's voice carried over to her.

"Have you so little faith in your people?" She sat up at the frustration in Boromir's voice, seeing where he stood at the edge of the river with Aragorn; "Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honour to be among Men. But you will not see that." As Aragorn turned to walk away, Boromir reached out and roughly jerked him back, "You are afraid! All your life you have hidden in the shadows. Scared of who you are, of what you are."

At Boromir's near shout, she swallowed thickly, watching as Aragorn leaned in to say something too soft for her to hear, but it made the Gondorian step back as Aragorn turned to storm away, his gaze hard and unforgiving as he disappeared into the woods. She ached to go after him, but it would do no good. From what she had heard, Boromir had only spoken the truth, his words coming from a place of desperation and fear for his people that she only knew too well.

She caught her friend's gaze and beckoned for him to join her, but he only shook his head and paced away towards the boats. Regretfully, she watched him go with a sigh, unable to shake the feeling that their Fellowship was fracturing. Cracks were beginning to show, and it wouldn't be long before one of them fell through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally happening! Hope you lovely readers are still enjoying the story, don't forget to drop a comment if you are! X


	27. Chapter 27

_**Chapter 27** _

  
As dawn broke over what was to be their last day in the boats before meeting the impassable Falls of Rauros, the Fellowship was silent, the air heavy with tension after Boromir and Aragorn's confrontation the night before. Théadain had no patience for the bruised egos of men, but she sensed there was something deeper bothering both of them. As the boats were readied, she moved close to Boromir, crouching by the shore as she helped him load their supplies.

"Last night..." She murmured softly, seeing his shoulders tense as she watched him, "I heard you Boromir, why were you arguing?"

He sighed and shook his head, tossing a bedroll into his boat, "I cannot shake this feeling that our time grows short, Théa." He admitted, quietly enough that only she could hear, "I only thought that if we could make it to Minas Tirith..."

"You know that was not the road Gandalf intended..."

"I know, and he fears the Ring would not be safe there," He cast a hard glance at Aragorn's form as the other man stamped out their fire from the night before; "But if our people could see _him_ , if they knew their king had returned, perhaps they would not lose faith, perhaps we could rally. But he is afraid."

"He is afraid because you expect so much." She reasoned gently, "One man cannot end this war alone. We _will_ return to your city, when we have seen this quest through. And when we do, I expect to be introduced to your brother and treated to every fine thing Gondor can offer." She smiled gently and reached out to squeeze his arm, "Do not lose hope Boromir, it is all we have."

He met her eyes, his gaze softer than before as he gave her a small nod; "Thank you, Théadain."

She smiled in return as she rose, rolling her shoulders as she moved to throw her own pack into her boat, feeling Aragorn's eyes on her as he strode across the riverbank. She turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow at the defensive look in his eyes as he passed her.

 _"What now?"_ She groaned internally, reaching out to catch Aragorn's arm and looking at him meaningfully as she strode into the treeline so they could talk. There was more than just his confrontation with Boromir weighing on him, she could feel it.

"Théadain?" He murmured warily as he followed her into the trees.

"I'm here." She murmured, checking they could not be seen from the riverbank before moving to take his hand, clad in his fingerless leather gloves. "Aragorn, enough of these scowls and glares, tell me what is weighing on you, I know there is something you are not telling us, the way you and Boromir spoke last night..."

"Théa, do not try to persuade me, I will not lead us through Gondor." He frowned, moving to pull his hand from hers, but she tugged him back.

"And I do not ask you to. I know that was not the path Gandalf wanted us to take. I just want to understand, what is it that haunts you?"

He sighed, casting a glance back to the boats, "We are being hunted, Théa." He whispered, "Celeborn warned me of it as we left Lothlórien."

"You did not think this was something to tell us?" She frowned, her stomach knotting with fear at his words.

"And needlessly frighten you?" He sighed, moving to cup her cheek to soothe away the worry he saw in her eyes, "Legolas knows, he believes we are still ahead of them. If I thought us to be in real danger, I would tell you."

"But you have carried this burden yourself, for so many days." She breathed, leaning into his hand as the thought crossed her mind that she was once again letting herself get too close to this man.

"I seem to recall a pleasant distraction." He murmured gently, pulling her a little closer to him as a small smile played on his lips. Her mere presence was enough to smother the fears that played on his mind, if only just for a moment.

"One which we shouldn't indulge in again." She reminded him, placing a hand on his chest reluctantly. The temptation to throw herself into his arms was overwhelming, her mind trying to persuade her that it was alright, they were alone, and no one would see...

"No..." He agreed, his smile turning regretful as he looked down at her.

She swallowed thickly as she gazed into his eyes, seeing her own conflict reflected back at her; "Damn it all-" She sighed, her hands fisting in his cloak to pull him down and plant a longing kiss on his stunned lips, growling in frustration at her own lack of control as she pulled back and stormed off to the boats.

*

She refused to meet Aragorn's eyes again until later that afternoon, as their boats rounded a bend in the river and the great, towering forms of the Argonath came into view. She had known the statues stood at the old border of Gondor, but had never had opportunity to gaze upon them herself. The figures of two men stood high above the gorge they protected, the forms of Isildur and Elendil standing with palms outstretched, as if to stop the flow of the mighty river that coursed beneath them. Even carved from strong white stone as they were, their features had weathered with time, though they appeared no less noble.

Daring to let her eyes wander to Aragorn's boat, she saw him gazing up in quiet awe at the forms of his forefathers, as did the rest of the Fellowship. They were magnificent, a testimony to the great feats of men and their love for their kings; for a moment Théa wondered if she would ever look upon the figure of Aragorn, carved in stone.

As they passed beneath the two kings, their boats dwarfed by the massive forms of their feet, she felt the current pick up beneath their boats. The Falls of Rauros had to be near.

"Keep close to the riverbank." She called softly to Legolas, having no desire to get this far and then be swept over a waterfall.

"We should make for the Eastern shore." He murmured behind her, and she didn't need to look to tell his eyes were fixed on the Western one.

"Not in the daylight, Legolas." She reasoned, "We can move tonight, but we can't risk being seen."

The elf said nothing as they paddled on into the afternoon, leaving the imposing figures of the two kings behind them. As the river widened Théadain's eyes were able to pick out where the Anduin dropped away some distance ahead of them, clouds of spray hanging over the scene, accompanied by the sound of rushing, falling water.

The sun was high, basking the Fellowship in a welcome warmth as they tugged their boats up onto the sandy Western bank, beneath the ruins of the once-great watchtower of Amon Hen. Théadain shrugged her coat off and rolled the sleeves of her shirt to the elbow, exposing the long pink scar on her forearm that was now the last physical reminder of her time in Moria. It had healed miraculously quickly under Aragorn's attentions and the medicines of the elves, and now no longer required bandaging.

"Get a fire going, we can rest here a while." She coaxed Sam as she moved to help him and Frodo from their boats, her eyes meeting the Ringbearer's as he grasped her hand to climb out onto the shore; "Are you alright, Frodo?" She frowned, seeing the uncomfortable way he glanced around himself.

"Just a feeling, Théadain..." He murmured as she dropped to one knee before him, her eyes wandering over the pallor of his skin, and the dark circles under his own blue eyes.

"You look tired, you should rest." She soothed, trying to smile comfortingly, "Eat something, let Sam look after you."

He only nodded and strode over to his friend, making her press her lips together with worry. As she straightened, she caught sight of Boromir fixing his eyes on Frodo's back as he tugged his boat ashore, perhaps he also saw the way their Ringbearer seemed to be suffering. Or perhaps it was the awareness that they now stood in the realm of Gondor making him uneasy, the way knowing she was so close to Rohan yet unable to return had unsettled her in the nights before.

With a sigh she moved to settle by the fire Sam had started, stretching her legs out in front of her and breaking a corner from the _lembas_ bread Pippin offered her. Bread was a generous term for the dry food, she thought as she chewed, her thoughts drifting to freshly-baked loaves, the warm feeling of steam still rising from the pillow-soft centre after tearing the perfect golden crust with her hands. When this quest was all over, she certainly would not miss the lack of home comforts.

"We cross the lake at nightfall, hide the boats, and continue on foot." Aragorn informed them as he paced over from the boats; "We approach Mordor from the North." Théadain could not help but watch him admiringly as he tossed down his coat and bedroll, wondering why everything he did made him seem so desperately capable and _attractive_. It was maddening.

"Oh yes? Just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks?" Gimli scoffed at his words, "And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marshlands as far as the eye can see!"

" _That_ is our road." Aragorn insisted softly, "I suggest take some rest, and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

"Recover my-?" At Gimli's sound of distain, Théa had to hide her smile behind her hand.

"You forget Gimil, we have already traversed frozen mountains, and demon-infested mines." She reasoned, "Rocks and marshlands sound almost preferable- it is the mountain of fire at the end that worries me." She smiled as the dwarf cast her a good-natured look, shaking his head at her fondly.

"No dwarf need recover strength! Pay no heed to that, young Hobbit." He informed Pippin, who had been glancing between them anxiously as he chewed his _lembas_.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, turning to look at Aragorn curiously as he leant in to murmur something in her ear. She could see concern painted clearly on both his and Legolas' faces, recalling what Aragorn had said to her that morning; ' _If I thought us to be in real danger, I would tell you._ '  
"They're close, aren't they?" She breathed before he could speak, his solemn gaze confirming her fears as she rose to her feet.

"Where's Frodo?"

Merry's words as he emerged from the trees with an armful of firewood made her turn from Aragorn, looking around in alarm for the Hobbit. She had not seen him since helping him from the boat, and catching Sam's anxious glance, she feared his friend had not either.

"Boromir is gone too." She breathed as her eyes settled on the Gondorian's shield propped against a tree. "Aragorn-" She turned to him in alarm, "If whatever is hunting us is close-"

"We have to find them." He confirmed, his hand landing unconsciously on the hilt of his sword, "Legolas, Gimli- follow the riverbank, move into the woods if you don't find them." He instructed, before telling Sam, Merry and Pippin to wait by the boats in case Frodo or Boromir returned, before turning to Théadain; "Théa, with me."

She nodded, her own hand moving to check her sword was at her hip before dashing into the woods, her eyes scouring the ground for signs of tracks as she heard his footfalls behind her. She could feel the tension rolling off in him waves. Whatever he feared was following them, it had to be close for his composure to waver.

"Here-" He called her over as he came across a trail in the fallen leaves that blanketed the forest floor.

"Boromir?" She frowned, seeing the stride length was too great to be Frodo's. Nearby at the base of a tree, some fallen wood had been disturbed, as if the man had been looking for firewood, "Perhaps he's gone back already."

"Keep looking." Aragorn insisted, shaking his head as he moved to loosely follow the trail that Boromir had taken, snaking between the trees.

As she jogged alongside him, Théadain glimpsed something that made her pause, frowning as he spotted the pile of discarded firewood left amongst the trees, and the disturbed leaves that lay around. "Aragorn look..." She dashed over, dropping to one knee as she examined the ground, feeling his hand on her shoulder as he joined her. They did not need to exchange words to be able to tell there had been a scuffle, the kicked up ground and the second set of tracks told them enough.

"Frodo was here." Aragorn murmured grimly, his hand moving to follow motions that only he could picture in his mind; "They separated, Boromir went South."

"I'll go after him." She breathed, rising to her feet. After whatever had happened here, Boromir would need a friend. "Go after Frodo."

"Théa, if you cannot find him..."

"I will." She insisted, already turning to follow the man's tracks, "I know him Aragorn, whatever has happened can be explained."

"Be safe." He breathed, reaching to touch her cheek, the tender gesture making her hesitate. As she met his eyes, something in those grey depths pulled her close. All her reasoning against letting herself fall into his arms again was forgotten as she realised that the emotion she saw shining in his eyes was fear. His hand on her cheek guided her lips to his urgently, his other hand clutching her waist as he held her tightly. Something was coming, and he knew he should not waste a moment, but he could not let her leave his side, not just yet. Regretfully, he released her as he felt her pull away a little, knowing she felt the same sense of urgency.

"I will, Aragorn." She promised in response to his request that she stay safe, lightly touching her fingertips to the back of his hand, "Bring Frodo back to us."

He nodded, withdrawing his hand and casting her one last meaningful look before dashing uphill, following the trail of the Hobbit.

Théadain swallowed thickly as she watched him go, before turning to set her eyes to Boromir's trail, seeing how he had walked away unsteadily towards the South.

"Boromir, what have you done?" She breathed as she set off after him. 


	28. Chapter 28

_**Chapter 28** _

  
"Boromir?" Théadain called as she ran amongst the trees, trying desperately to decipher where his path had been leading him, judging by his tracks her friend had been wandering with no sense of purpose or direction. "Boromir!" She cried desperately as the tracks became fainter, spinning around as she tried to spot his form amongst the dense trees.

"Théadain?" The broken whisper behind her made her turn, a dry sob of relief falling from her lips as she saw Boromir stagger from behind a tree.

"Thank goodness, Boromir-" She breathed, catching him in her arms and hugging him tightly, "Come on, we have to get back to the boats, something's coming, we have to move-" She pulled back, tugging at his gloved hands as he shook his head.

"Frodo- I... Théa I did something terrible..." He breathed as dread gripped her, "I tried to take the Ring, I-I don't know what came over me..."

"Oh Boromir..." She breathed, gently cupping his jaw as tears swam in his eyes, "Where did he go? Was Frodo alright?"

"I- I don't know, he disappeared..." He whispered, gripping her wrist to ground himself.

"Aragorn was following him, he'll be alright." She promised, "Whatever happened can be forgiven Boromir, Frodo will understand, but we have to go-"

Her urgent words caught in her throat as a roar ripped through the peace of the forest, chilling her to the bone. Fearfully, she gripped Boromir tighter, not daring to move as she listened to the growing sound of trampling feet and clashing metal. Whatever it was that hunted them, it was here.

"Aragorn is out there." She whispered fearfully, "They all are-"

"We'll find them." He breathed, drawing on some internal strength as he straightened, looking around to identify where the sounds were coming from. She nodded, stepping back to draw her sword, momentarily regretting leaving her coat and vambraces in her boat as the prospect of a fight loomed.

"There..." She breathed, seeing the armoured figures running through the trees where the ground sloped away in the direction of the river; "The Hobbits are on the riverbank, we have to draw them away."

"Quickly." He breathed, urging her forward with a hand on her back.

Without thinking, she dashed down the hill with a yell, her feet kicking up flurries of leaves as the first figures turned. She had not realised from a distance just how tall they were, or heavy muscled and armoured. Her stomach knotted as she tried to decipher what they were as the first snarled at her and raised a crude, hooked blade. Their skin and features seemed similar to orcs, but they moved in daylight and they were so much _bigger._

But now she had closed the gap between them, crying out as she ducked its swipe and drove her sword into the seam where its chest armour met shoulder. She had no more time to ponder the creature's race as she was set upon by two more, using the higher ground she stood on to knock them back as Boromir fiercely fought another two. With the small group strewn at their feet, Théadain looked around, knowing she could hear more but unable to see them amongst the dense trees.

"Down." Boromir panted, grabbing her arm and urging her on through the forest, following the snarls and growls they could hear. As she caught sight of more, a flash of colour at the edge of her vision made her hesitate, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes settled on Merry and Pippin, stranded on the ruins of a stone bridge with near twenty of the creatures bearing down on them. Boromir saw it too, and with a yell he was running towards them, his eyes set on the creature closest to them.

"Merry, Pippin!" She cried as Boromir grasped the axe the creature held, forcing it back as she ran to slice across the legs of the next; "Run, get out of here!" She urged as she planted herself before the horde of creatures, seamlessly moving between each that came at her, unable to separate each foe in her mind. There were so many of them, and they took twice the effort to strike down, well armoured as they were. Though despite their size, they seemed to be just as unintelligent as their smaller counterparts, unable to organise themselves enough to overwhelm her and Boromir.

She grunted in pain as she drove her shoulder into the metal-clad chest of one as she avoided a blow, her free hand grasping her dagger and piercing its neck as it fell. She barely had a moment to recover before the next was upon her, a clumsy fist knocking the side of her head and driving her to her knee, only to see the creature fall as Boromir freed its head from its shoulders.

"There's too many." She gasped as she used her sword to force herself to her feet, swinging out with a yell to take the arm off one that lunged at them, "We need the others."

Boromir did not reply as he forced back another with a growl, his hand that did not grasp his sword moving to catch the great horn that hung on his hip. In a brief moment between opponents, he raised it to his lips and sounded three loud blasts. She remembered him telling her once that if the Horn of Gondor was sounded within the boarders of his realm, help would find them. She realised grimly as she took stock of the number of foes that dashed through the woods towards them that they truly did need help. In their area of the forest alone, she could not guess the amount they faced, everywhere she looked there seemed to be more.

Once again she threw herself into the fray, growling in frustration as one caught her thigh with the edge of a blade, tearing the fabric of her breeches and leaving a shallow gash. It was not enough to slow her down, spurred on as she was by the sound of Boromir's horn. However, as she fought on, she came to the foreboding realisation that the sound of the horn seemed to be drawing more enemies to them – but if that meant that the others were safe, if they had the opportunity to get away, she could endure it. She did not want to linger on thoughts of her friends facing the same fate elsewhere in the woods.

"Théadain!" Boromir's cry made her turn, and she groaned as she saw that Merry and Pippin still stood with him as he urged them to back away; they had not fled when she had told them. "Pull back!" He called to her before raising the horn to sound another trio of blasts. As she moved to follow him, a sudden heavy force on the back of her head made her drop to the ground with a pained cry, as an opponent brought down something blunt on her skull. For a terrible moment she lay stunned, before instinct took over and she rolled onto her back, forcing her sword under the creature's armour and staggering to her feet. She could taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth as she swayed for a moment, the world seeming to move sluggishly as she remembered Boromir and turned to follow him and the Hobbits, forcing her feet to cooperate as her vision swam.

"Go!" She breathed, urging them down into a clearing where they would not be hindered by the trees. Wiping at the trickle of blood that ran down her chin she tried to steady herself to face another onslaught, her chest tightening as Merry and Pippin threw themselves at one of their foes whilst Boromir struck down another.

Théadain grimaced as she blocked the blow of one that had set its sights on her, shoving it to the ground and driving her sword down with such desperate force that she split its metal chest plate.

"Run! Run!" Boromir called suddenly, and she looked up in horror to see the fresh wave moving towards them, perhaps more than fifty, more than they could ever hope to defeat.

"Boromir!" She cried, trying to fight her way back towards him as he cut down the creatures before him with powerful blows. She could only hope the Hobbits had heeded his command, they would be able to hold the creatures off for long enough to let them get away.

After that, she did not think her strength would hold to see herself to safety.

She had never had to fight like this before, this was tooth and nail, desperate and messy. With every moment she was fighting for her life and she knew it, a frantic sense of self-preservation the only thing keeping her standing as her muscles burned and jolted with each strike. She did not feel she could make herself move fast enough, the blow to her head was still slowing her down.

With a despairing yell she forced back another enemy, her arms shaking with the effort of holding her sword up. As she turned to look for her next assailant, a terrible, pained sound made her turn.

" _Boromir!_ " She screamed as, not five feet from her, she saw him stagger back, his face painted with shock and agony as he looked at the ugly, black arrow protruding from his chest. "Boromir _no_!" She cried, desperation flaring in her, driving her to cut across the body of the creature between them in an effort to reach his side as he slumped to his knees. As two more creatures moved to pass him to reach Merry and Pippin, he forced himself to his feet, a yell of pain passing his lips as he struck them down valiantly.

Théadain cried his name again as she finally fought a clear path to him, just to see a second arrow strike his body with such force that he staggered back. A wordless scream of anguish tore from her lips as she ran to catch his shoulders, trying to steady his body with her trembling arms as he slumped.

"Boromir- Boromir look at me!" She sobbed as he dropped to his knees, her free hand frantically tipping his face towards hers, "Look at me Boromir- it's alright, you're alright-"

She watched as his eyes dropped from her face to land on something behind her- Merry and Pippin. His tortured expression mirrored hers as his breath came in laboured pants, struggling to overcome the unspeakable pain that coursed through him. Théadain watched in horror as his expression set to one of grim determination as the man forced himself from her arms, roaring fiercely as he turned to meet the blade of another of their enemies. Tearfully, Théa raised her own sword, screaming her agony into the faces of their assailants as she fought to keep them back, to protect Boromir.

"Get away from him!" She yelled, her words accompanied by a spray of blood from her lips as she staggered in front of him to push back the creatures. Then she saw him- the archer.

Taller than the others, he stood back from the fray, his warpaint-smeared face drawn back in a snarl as he raised his bow once more, fitted with another of those terrible black arrows. She met his eyes defiantly as she swayed on her feet in front of Boromir, daring him to release the arrow aimed at her chest. In that moment she did not care, her heart had already been pierced.

"Théa-"

Boromir's pained gasp of her name startled her, distracting her long enough for him to lay a hand on her arm and shove her roughly to the ground, the third arrow driving the air from his chest as it struck him, his body filling the place where she had stood. He barely heard her tortured scream of his name, nor feel her hands on his face as he stared forward, trying to gasp in enough air to tell her to run, to save herself and the Hobbits.

"Boromir- stay with me!" She cried, holding him desperately as she heard a cry behind her. She lunged to stop Merry and Pippin running with swords drawn into the waiting arms of two of the creatures, crying out in frustration as another of their kind pushed her back, preventing her from reaching them as the tall, armoured foes carried their thrashing forms away. She heard them cry her name, and she screamed theirs in return as she fought desperately, torn between perusing them and protecting Boromir, though looking at the sheer numbers of creatures, she could not have fought her way to them even with ten fighters at her back.

An anguished sob left her body as one pushed her back with a rough hand to her chest. She realised she was an inconvenience to them now as they ran past her, not even bothering to finish her as she crashed to the ground, laying winded on her back.

Part of her wished they _would_ finish her. She had failed them, Boromir, Merry, Pippin... And for all she knew the others lay dead somewhere in this forsaken forest.

As she was passed over by the creatures, she forced herself to roll to her side, groaning in pain as her eyes sought Boromir. He knelt where he had fallen, surrounded by the countless bodies of his slain foes and his horn hanging cloven in two at his hip, drawing in tortured, painful breaths as his eyes met hers; the same sense of failure that she felt clearly shining in their depths.

"No..." She breathed, as the forest cleared of the foot-soldiers, she watched the archer slowly stride up to her friend's kneeling form; "Boromir..." She choked, trying to summon the last of her strength, to pull herself up from the ground as the archer sneered, lifting his bow once more, clearly intending to finish Boromir at point-blank range. With a last, desperate scream she grasped the hilt of her dagger, throwing it to lodge in the creature's muscular bicep.

He turned with an alarmed growl, loosing his arrow clumsily in her direction, which she managed to dodge as she forced herself up, driving the point of her sword into the ground to lean on as her limbs trembled. Gasping in air, she tried to ready herself as the archer stepped towards her, growling furiously at her as he jerked her dagger from his arm roughly.

"Don't you dare touch him." She snarled weakly, pulling her sword from the ground and holding it aloft, trying to summon the energy to step forward, to strike the creature down. But as he raised his bow once more and fitted his final black arrow, she did not think she would even have the energy to dodge. Still, she tried to not let her eyes betray her fear as she drew in a breath, waiting for the crushing impact of the arrow as she stared boldly into the cruel yellow eyes of the creature.

A yell jerked her gaze from those harsh features, and she gasped in a combination of relief and terror as Aragorn threw himself onto the creature, appearing seemingly from nowhere. As he drew it away from her, she sank to her knees, unable to watch the fight as she saw Boromir slump onto his side on the ground.

"Boromir..." She sobbed, crawling to his side to pull his head onto her lap, a shuddering breath leaving her lips as she realised he was still alive.

"Théa..." He choked, reaching to lay a gloved hand on her cheek, trying to wipe away the tears that streamed from her eyes.

"Don't talk, it's alright..." She whimpered, pulling them both to lean against the roots of a nearby tree, tenderly stroking his hair from his face with trembling fingers, "I've got you, you're going to be alright."

As she moved one hand to try and remove one of the awful black arrows from his body, he stopped her, shaking his head weakly, "It won't help, Théa... You have to let me go."

"No..." She choked, her tears falling freely from her cheeks, "No I'm going to make this better, we're going to get through this- you have to return to Gondor..."

"Gondor will fall- nothing I could do will stop that." He whispered with an attempt at a reassuring smile, reaching up to cup her cheek and gasping in pain at the motion.

"Shh..." she soothed, supporting his hand gently as she leaned into his hold, not daring to look up as she tried to ignore the desperate sounds of Aragorn's fight, "I've got you."

"I know." He smiled weakly up at her, drawing in a sharp breath as a wave of pain cascaded over him, and then faded to numbness. He watched as Théadain tensed at the sound of footsteps approaching but released a trembling breath as Aragorn knelt at his side, the sight of the man spurring an urgency within the Gondorian as his for lay strewn in pieces behind him.

"They took the little ones!" Boromir choked to the man, releasing Théadain's cheek to clasp the other man's shoulder desperately. He looked just as battle-worn as Théa did, but alive. That was what mattered.

"Be still." Aragorn breathed, glancing up to meet Théadain's broken gaze, an unspoken word of confirmation passing between them; Boromir could not be saved.

"Frodo- Where is Frodo?" The Gondorian choked desperately as Théadain hushed him, stroking her fingers tenderly over his clammy cheek.

"I let Frodo go."

At Aragorn's words she looked at him in confusion, but she could see no grief in his eyes, save that reserved for Boromir. Wherever the Hobbit was, he was safe.

"Then you did what I could not... I tried to take the Ring from him." Boromir confessed, each word an effort as Théadain and Aragorn held him, trying to ease his pain in whatever way they could.

"The Ring is beyond our reach now." Aragorn reassured him softly.

"Forgive me." The Gondorian choked, "I did not see it. I have failed you all."

"No..." Théadain breathed reassuringly, caressing his jaw as Aragorn shook his head.

"No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honour." He promised the dying man, moving to remove one of the arrows, but stopped as Théa laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. It would do no good to cause Boromir further pain.

"Leave it." Boromir insisted, swallowing thickly, "It is over. The world of men will fall. And all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin."

"We will not let it." Théadain swore, clutching him tightly, looking to Aragorn for support, "As long as we draw breath our race will stand."

Aragorn grasped his hand determinedly, gritting his teeth as he forced back tears at his dying friend's lack of hope; "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail." He promised softly.

"Our people... Our people..." The Gondorian echoed breathlessly, a small, reassured smile on his lips as he turned his head, his gloved hand reaching for the blood streaked sword that lay beside him. Théa watched tearfully as Aragorn placed it in his hand, guiding his arm to hold the weapon to his chest. His eyes weakly moved up to Théadain as she continued to cradle him in her lap, unable to do anything but soothe her fingers over his hair. "Don't cry, Théa..." He whispered tenderly, "Be strong." She nodded, even as a small sob escaped her lips, her shoulders shaking as she gazed down at him. He gripped his sword a little tighter as his eyes fell back to Aragorn, his breathing more laboured than before.

"I would have followed you, my brother." He breathed, his mouth curved into a breathless smile as he fought to get the words out, "My captain, my king."

Théadain choked on a whimper as with those words, in her arms, quietly and with no great effort, Boromir slipped away, the light leaving his eyes and his body going still, no longer in pain. 


	29. Chapter 29

**_Chapter 29_ **

  
And so the Fellowship of the Ring was broken.

Shattered and scattered, they had been divided by the forces of evil they had set out to destroy.

Frodo and Sam had set out for Mordor alone, the only ones able to carry on with the quest to destroy the One Ring. In the midst of the battle they had slipped away across the great river, not knowing whether their companions would survive the fray.

Merry and Pippin had been taken by what they had come to identify as the Uruk-hai, servants of evil who only knew that they sought a Halfling, unaware of that fact that they had taken the wrong ones. Those Hobbits too knew nothing of their friend's fate, save for the fact that as they had been pulled away, they had seen Boromir pierced by three arrows, and Théadain disappearing amongst the forms of their enemies, fighting desperately to reach them.

And the others; Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Théadain, stood mournfully on the banks of the Anduin as Boromir's body was laid in one of their elfin boats.

With tender, careful hands, Théadain arranged his broken horn at his side so that it looked complete, bending to brush back a few strands of his dark hair so that she could lay soft, parting kiss on his brow. The words of Aragorn rang in her ears as she looked down at the still form of her friend; ' _They will look for his coming from the White Tower. But he will not return._ '

If it hadn't been for Boromir, she would be laying in a boat of her own. He had saved her, and yet would not live to see the end of these dark times. She wished she was able to conjure up poetic words, to bid her friend farewell and celebrate his life, but it was all she could muster was the strength to not sob openly as she volunteered to take the boat out. Leaving her boots on the shore, she stepped into the cool water of the Aduin and carefully guided his boat with her hands until she stood at waist-depth, feeling the river tugging at her, as if it was asking her to lift her feet and be borne away on the current with the little boat.

Part of her wanted to do it, to drift away into nothingness and know no more of this pain. Her heart felt truly broken, it was as if someone had reached into her chest and torn the beating organ into two halves. One half lay with the man lying still in the boat under her hands, the other wretchedly pumped on in her hollow chest, forcing her to remain without him. She could not stop herself replaying the battle in her mind, trying to find some flaw in what she had done, something she had missed that might have saved him, but there was nothing. He had fought valiantly, and part of her knew that he would not be ashamed of falling in battle, protecting his friends.

Although, she had allowed two of those friends to slip through her fingers.

Théadain could not drive the image of Merry and Pippin's frightened faces from her mind. If only she had fought harder, if she had been able to reach them, they might still be here. What had she left them to? Fear and torment as they were taken to the enemy? Torture and death when it was discovered that they did not carry the Ring? It was too awful to think of. Thoughts of the Hobbits settled her resolve though, she _could_ go on. She could endure this heartache, if there was a chance they were still alive, she would go after them. If Aragorn and the others decided to follow Frodo and Sam across the river, she would let them go – but her conscience would not be able to rest without at least _trying_ to rescue her friends. As she looked down at the peaceful face of Boromir, she knew he would approve of her choice. She knew now what she had to do.

" _Ferðu, Westu hál_ my friend." She breathed, bidding him farewell in the tongue of her forefathers as she could not bring herself to say goodbye in her own words. After a long moment, when the chill of the river had thoroughly reached the depths of her heart, she was able to release her hold on the boat. Tears tracked freely down her cheeks as the current held it steady for a brief moment, before carrying him away from her, out of arm's reach and away towards the Falls of Rauros. She stood there, shivering in the water until she could no longer see the boat, as it disappeared into the clouds of spray that surrounded the waterfall. The river would bear him through Gondor, passing the cities he loved so fiercely before guiding him out to the sea.

Slowly, she turned and made her way back to the shore, where Gimli stood leaning on his axe. When the time had come in the forest for Aragorn and Legolas to lift Boromir's body, the dwarf had gathered her trembling form up, letting her lean on his broad shoulder as he had guided her down to the river, letting her cling to him as her legs tried to remember how to walk. At the edge of the river he had given her time to sit, encouraging her to eat something and swallow a few mouthfuls of water, giving her the chance to let her strength return. Now he reached out a gloved hand to her, drawing her to his side silently as his gaze fixed on the distant falls. Whilst Théadain had leant him strength at Gandalf's passing, he could now lend his to her.

Motion behind them jolted them both from their thoughts as Legolas pushed the last remaining boat to the shore; "Hurry!" He urged them, "Frodo and Sam have reached the Eastern shore!"

She glanced across the river at his words, seeing the small, abandoned grey boat they had left, before turning to look to Aragorn for guidance, waiting to reveal her own plan. He had remained silent since they had left the forest, moving only to carefully remove Boromir's vambraces as the man was laid to rest in the boat, taking them as a way of carrying his friend with him. It would pain her to leave him, she knew that, but she valued the lives of her friends above her own emotions. Whatever longing she held for the dark-haired man, she could lay it aside now. The world was greater than she and him, and had more desperate need of her focus.

"You mean not to follow them." Legolas breathed in resignation as he watched the man finish fastening the vambraces to his own forearms.

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands." He murmured softly yet firmly, as if his decision had been made long before the battle.

"Then it was all in vain." Gimli sighed as he turned to walk towards the man, "The Fellowship has failed."

"Not if we hold true to each other." Aragorn breathed, laying a hand each on Legolas and Gimli's shoulders, his gaze landing on Théadain as she slowly approached, seeing the resignation and heartbreak in her eyes. If he had thought they had time, he would have drawn her into his arms, to try and shield her from this grief, but he could see that she was attempting to distance herself from it already. There were more pressing matters at hand than their emotions.

"Boromir would not have wanted us to give up. Nor Gandalf." She whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her damp sleeve as hope flared in her chest at his words. Perhaps she would not have to leave them after all.

"We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left." Aragorn decided, drawing back from his companions to gather his belongings, "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light." He informed them, watching as Théadain hurried to ready herself, tugging her boots on and snatching up her coat from where it lay on the riverbank. "Let's hunt some orc." He murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as Gimli growled a fierce sound of agreement, setting off after their leader as he turned to dash beneath the trees.

Pausing only to cast one final glance over her shoulder at the river, Théadain pulled on the coat that Arwen had gifted her with when they had left Rivendell, laying a hand to her sword, bow and dagger to check she was ready, before setting off after them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end of The Fellowship of the Ring and bid farewell to Boromir - one of my favourite characters and one that I truly wish I had more time to explore!
> 
> The Two Towers will bring its own share of heartache for our broken Fellowship, I really hope you have enjoyed the first part of Théadain's story dear readers!


	30. Chapter 30

_**Chapter 30** _

  
Three days, and three nights they ran.

Exhausted from the battle, their pace was steady, though not as quick as Théadain would wish. Yet, once they had tracked the clear path the Uruk-hai left through the forest, it became clear that they were moving Northwest, directly into Rohan.

They could make up ground here, as they crossed the hills that bordered East Emnet. She knew this land, knew where they could cut across a hill and pick up the trail on the other side, whereas their quarry seemed to favour seeking the flat ground between the hills. And so, they gained on them, taking no rest out of fear the trail would grow cold.

Théadain was glad of the constant pace, it meant she could not stop to think, to indulge herself and allow her heart to ache. Boromir's loss was a fresh wound, one that would not begin to heal for some time. As long as her feet kept pounding against the earth, her eyes always set forward, she could not think of him. She dreaded the moment when they would finally surrender to the need to rest, for she knew the moment she closed her eyes, all she would see would be black arrows and Boromir's face.

She did not dare let her mind turn to thoughts of her home either. They were so desperately close, but her feet could not take her to Edoras, she _had_ to push on, to keep following the trail of the Uruk-hai, and Merry and Pippin.

At times it seemed only Aragorn was able to follow their trail, and Théadain had to marvel at his skill. It seemed in his mind's eye he could paint an image of what had occurred hours, even days ago, only relying on the faint clues that only he could spot. At times he would dash ahead, spurred on by an unknown energy, to press his ear to the ground and listen for their footfalls, urging them to hurry if it seemed they were falling behind.

One sign he had found as they dashed through the hills was unmistakable; the glimmer of green in the grass even caught Théa's eye, and she had released a shuddering breath as she recognised the brooch, identical to the one she and the three other hunters wore. The ones they had been gifted in Lothlórien. The brooch had to have been unfastened deliberately, cast down by one of the Hobbits. It meant they did not pursue them in vain, they were _alive_.

Following their discovery, they had pushed on until their path led them to a vantage point at the top of a hill. Théadain panted as she jogged to a halt, realising with a leap of her heart that they had reached the end of the rolling hills. Before her stretched the endless grasslands and plains of her homeland. This was the Rohan she knew, she could trace the rise and fall of the land with her eyes closed. To the North, the imposing darkness of Fangorn Forest lay as a mere smudge on the horizon, if she had not known to look for it, it would have melted into the sea of grass and haze of the sun. Southwest, beyond her sight lay the river Entwash that ran from Fangorn, and far beyond that, Edoras and the Golden Hall.

"Rohan, home of the horse-lords." Aragorn breathed as he moved to her side, casting his eye over the land that he had not stood upon in many years, not since he bore a different name, and long before the young woman at his side was even born.

"My home." She replied softly, her voice longing as her eyes watched the Southwest horizon, searching for something unseen.

"There's something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures... Sets its will against us." He murmured as he tried to pick out the group they chased, turning to where their elven companion stood not far from them, "Legolas! What do your elf eyes see?"

"The Uruks turn North!" He called, as Théa's head snapped to look in that direction. Did they make for Fangorn? Or something beyond?

Her jaw set firmly as she recalled what lay at the foot of the mountains beyond the forest, the word set in her mind even before Legolas confirmed her fears.

"They're taking the Hobbits to Isengard!" He called as she gritted her teeth, fury rising in her chest. Part of her had expected the Uruk-hai to make for Mordor, she had not seriously considered that the White Wizard could be meddling with building his own army of creatures in addition to bending Rohan to his will.

"Saruman." She snarled the word just as Aragorn breathed it, her eyes unable to pick out whatever detail on the horizon that told Legolas where they were headed, "We could cut across the land, they're moving to skirt the boarders of Fangorn to avoid patrols." She advised Aragorn, "We could reach Isengard before them."

"No." He sighed, shaking his head, "We do not know what would await us there. There could be hundreds more under Saruman's command. Merry and Pippin's best chances lie in us catching them."

Reluctantly she nodded, seeing the truth in his words, "Then pray they take rest tonight." She muttered, biting her lip as she began to run once more, following the bearing Legolas had set them.

*

In the darkness of the night, their path lit by stars, Théadain guided their feet in the moments it was too dark for Aragorn to trace the party of Uruks. Just as she had been taught by her father, she taught them which constellations held most significance in relation to their point on the earth below. She suspected Aragorn and Legolas knew as much already, but her own knowledge of the land was invaluable. And still, she needed to think, to calculate their path to hold her mind a careful distance from her emotions.

Though she was beginning to tire. That drive, the need to keep going, to finish what they had started, was beginning to wane. No matter how badly she wanted to keep going, Théa did not think she would make it to the next night without rest. She prayed that Aragorn was correct when he had pressed himself to the ground in the darkness and declared that the Uruk-hai had stopped moving. She prayed they would catch them soon, with still enough energy to fight off the creatures and get the Hobbits to safety.

She prayed that this long chase would not be in vain.

As their feet carried them on through the night, dawn broke brilliantly behind them, staining the clouds a soft crimson at their backs. The light illuminated the land they ran over beautifully, and Théadain could not help but pause to appreciate the vista before her, taking a moment to slow and catch her breath.

"A red sun rises." Legolas murmured grimly as he passed her, turning to look back at the clouds as she moved to jog beside him, "Blood has been spilt this night."

"I did not take you for the superstitious type." She frowned, glancing at him as they followed Aragorn's retreating form with Gimli at their heels.

"I have seen a lot of sunrises." He reasoned, pressing on as she tried not to spend too long pondering his words.

"Pay him no heed, lass." Gimli puffed as he matched her pace, "The little ones will be alright."

"They will, Gimli." She breathed, though she did not fully relax until the sun rose a little higher and the red stain on the clouds melted away into the light of day.

As the sun settled high in the sky, Aragorn crouched at the crest of a hill, laying his hand on the ground with a frown. He had not been able to detect the creatures' motion since the night before, meaning they had to be desperately close to catching them.

Théadain frowned and knelt at his side; "Would they truly rest for so long?"

"I don't know." He admitted softly, his frown deepening as he felt something. Théa felt it too, the tremor in the earth. A steady, powerful rhythm, growing ever stronger.

"Horses." She gasped, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest for a reason beyond her running. She sprang to her feet, turning to search for them just as Aragorn grabbed her arm and tugged her behind a large outcropping of rock, gesturing for Legolas and Gimli to follow.

"Stay low." He breathed in her ear, "We do not know if we will be welcome here – you particularly, Théa."

"This is my _home_." She hissed, momentarily struggling against his hand.

"You don't know who you can trust here now, you said it yourself." He reminded her as beyond their hiding place, the first horses cantered over the crest of the hill in a thundering of hooves, their riders clad in shining armour. She watched them breathlessly, unable to tell from this distance if she recognised any. By her rough count, there were over two hundred riders that rushed past them – a full company. As they passed, she yearned to cry out, to hear a familiar voice and some news of her home. It was torture to be so close to all she loved and unable to reach out and touch it.

"Stay here, until we know it is safe." Aragorn warned her as he straightened, leading Legolas and Gimli out from their hiding place as she craned her neck to see what was going on.

"Riders of Rohan!" Aragorn called out commandingly, his voice carrying across the land over the sound of the hundreds of hoofbeats; "What news from the Mark?"

She watched as the company turned, unable to see the leader that had given the command from where she lay crushed against the rock. Her heart seemed to fill her throat as she trembled with anticipation. She had waited so long to hear _something_ of her homeland, and now her chance had come and she was forced to hide.

Unflinchingly, the three hunters stood as Théadain watched the company surround them in a familiar, practiced motion, trapping them in a tight circle of horses, layered in such a way that made escape near impossible. She sucked in an anxious breath as spears were lowered towards her friends, hoping that suspicion in these lands had not grown so powerful that the riders would kill them before questioning.

She strained to see what was happening in the centre of the circle, climbing up a little onto the rock as she heard Gimli's undiplomatic tone demanding the leader's name, and there was a sudden, collective movement of hundreds of spears being raised threateningly. She pushed herself up further, able to glimpse Aragorn soothing whatever offence they had managed to cause the company, hearing him introduce himself and the other two, artfully failing to mention Théadain.

"We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your King." The man announced carefully, watching the leader for any sign that their alliance with the king would be unwelcome.

"Théoden no longer recognises friend from foe. Not even his own kin." As their leader removed his helmet, his voice reached Théadain's ears clearly, the familiar baritone dragging a choked sound from her lips.

" _Éomer!_ " She cried, scrambling from her hiding place to dash towards the sound of his voice, "Éomer!" Her appearance startled the riders at the edge of the circle enough to force them to make a gap, alarmed murmurs spreading throughout the riders as she shoved past the flanks of countless horses to break into the centre of the circle with a gasp, "Éomer-"

"Théadain?" Her cousin choked on her name, astonishment clear on his face as she threw herself into his arms with a sob of relief, clutching his armoured shoulders as she buried her face in his blond hair. It took him a moment to fully register her presence, to recover from the shock of her sudden appearance, but it did not take long for him to hold her just as desperately, clinging to her smaller body as his shock gave way to hope, and then dismay as he realised what he would have to tell her.

"We feared you were dead." He breathed, "When Folca returned to Edoras without you, Grima declared you lost-"

"And you believed him? I left a letter-"

"Not for a moment, Théadain, but it had been so long-"

"I am here now." She breathed, withdrawing from his embrace to cup his jaw, gazing into his troubled eyes, "Éomer, my father, what has become of him?" Her heart fell as he shook his head in response to her question.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and claimed lordship over these lands." He murmured grimly, drawing back from her hand to gesture to the men around him, "My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished."

"Banished?" She breathed in horror, "For the crime of loyalty?"

He nodded, his gaze hard, "Grima knew that I saw through him, that I saw who was pulling his strings, and so he had Saruman manipulate your father into signing the order. The White Wizard is cunning." He frowned and glanced over her shoulder at her apparent companions, "He walks here and there they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

"They are no spies, they are my friends. My companions." She explained, laying a reassuring hand on his chest, "I will tell you everything, Éomer, but we must beg your help first."

"We track a party of Uruk-hai Westward across the plain." Aragorn murmured, stepping forward to lay a hand on Théadain's shoulder, not missing the protective look her cousin cast him at the touch, "They have taken two of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed." Éomer frowned, "We slaughtered them during the night."

"All of them?" Théadain breathed fearfully.

"But there were two Hobbits, did you see two Hobbits with them?" Gimli cried urgently as bile rose in Théadain's throat. She knew her people's ways. They would have made sure to leave no survivors.

"They would be small, only children to your eyes." Aragorn clarified, a faint note of desperation in his tone.

"We left none alive." Éomer murmured regretfully, shaking his head as a small sound of grief passed his cousin's lips, quickly stifled by her hand. "We piled the carcases and burned them."

Théadain dragged a trembling breath past her lips as she turned to see the high plume of smoke rising into the sky that Éomer had gestured to, faintly hearing Gimli breathe a few words of dismay behind her. They couldn't be dead. They couldn't have been killed at the hands of her own people, the thought was too terrible.

"I am sorry." The Second Marshal of the Mark breathed, turning to his cousin as his expression darkened further, "Théa, you may search for them, but there is something you should know."

"What is it?" She whispered, the intensity of his gaze frightening her, even more so than the prospect that they had failed Merry and Pippin. She had never seen him look like this.

"Two days past, Théodred's company was attacked at the River Isen." He explained, as gently as he could, though she could hear his voice was thick with carefully held emotion. "Théa... We were able to bring him back to Edoras but..." He shook his head as he saw her eyes fill with tears of dread, her blood running cold at his words.

"Tell me, Éomer." She pleaded at his hesitation, feeling like a hole had opened in the earth beneath her feet and she was spiralling down into nothingness.

"When I left him yesterday, he was alive, but he is gravely injured, Théa." He murmured, reaching to grasp her arms as he saw her sway on her feet, the shock of his news hitting her like a blow to the chest, "He may have lasted this long, but it is only a matter of time. If you go now, you may still make it to him."

"I... Théodred... How could this happen?" She breathed, reaching to grasp his arm for support.

"His entire company was slaughtered, he was the only one we found alive." He whispered grimly, "He was calling for you, Théa, you _must_ go to him."

Pulling in a steadying breath, she nodded, forcing herself to bury this awful fear, to seal it away so that she would be able to press on, to function without it tearing her apart. "I must..." She whispered, turning to look at Aragorn with pleading eyes, "Aragorn..."

"You must." He agreed softly, longing to pull her into his arms as he watched her process the two devastating blows she had been dealt, his eyes filled with a pitying sorrow that she could not bear to see, "We will carry on."

"Find them." She begged softly, reaching to catch his hand as Éomer turned to whistle piercingly over his shoulder. Théadain watched as two riderless horses approached at his call of their names, Hasufel and Arod.

"May these horses bear you to better fortune than the former masters." He murmured, handing the reins to Théadain and Aragorn.

"You take them." She breathed, pressing the reins of the pale grey Arod into Legolas' hands, "You will reach them sooner."

"Théa you cannot reach Edoras on time on foot..." Aragorn tried to insist, as a call behind them drew her attention.

"My Lady!" She turned in confusion at the familiar voice, frowning as a rider urged his horse through the ranks.

"Folhelm?" She gasped in surprise at the appearance of the fair-haired young lieutenant, a member of her own company and one she counted as a close friend, "What are you doing here?"

"Serving my banishment." He grumbled wryly as he dismounted to embrace her, "I may have started a scrap with one of Grima's men."

"You always did make me proud." She smiled weakly in spite of the fear that gripped her heart.

"I do try." He smiled fondly down at the leader he clearly admired, "Take my horse, my lady. Go to your brother."

"But surely you need her?" She breathed, glancing at his dappled grey mare.

"I will ride with one of the others." He reassured her, "Wyndrun is fast, and you need speed on your side. Go to Edoras, be with your family, and then you can begin to put this land to rights."

"Oh Folhelm..." She choked, throwing her arms around him and planting a grateful kiss on his stubbled cheek, missing the way Aragorn tensed behind her back at the exchange. "Thank you."

He only smiled and cast her a fond look as he stepped back, hearing another rider call his name and helping him into their saddle. She watched as Eomer mounted his own horse, wishing she could ask him to accompany her, but knowing he would be killed if he showed his face in Edoras.

"Farewell. Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands." He murmured to Aragorn, before turning to look at his cousin, "I pray you reach Théodred in time, Théadain."

"As do I." She whispered, her hands tightening on Wyndrun's reins as he called his company to order, casting her one last glace before he turned his horse and led them away at a thundering canter, leaving the four standing alone with their three horses.

"You should go, Théadain." Aragorn murmured gently, "Edoras is two day's ride from here."

"I know." She nodded, turning to mount the dappled grey mare, biting her lip as he caught her hand once she had settled in the saddle.

"I will find you again." He swore softly, his eyes filled with emotion as he gazed up at her. She could not speak, for she was frightened that if she uttered a reply, the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes would be set free. Drawing in a shaking breath, she reminded herself of the decision she had made on the banks of the Anduin. Whatever emotion lay between her and the Heir of Elendil, it had to be lain aside, there was no place for it amidst the chaos that lay before them. She glanced to Legolas and Gimli, giving them each a regretful, parting nod before closing her hand over Aragorn's. She bent to bring his fingers to her lips, squeezing her eyes shut as she laid a tender, lingering kiss upon his fingertips, before releasing his hand. He stepped back as her horse wheeled under her, marvelling at the way the mare seemed to respond to her thoughts alone as they turned to the South, an encouraging sound leaving the rider's lips before the horse took off at a searing gallop, over the crest of a hill and out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin The Two Towers and Théadain takes her first steps towards home - thank you for reading, as always!


	31. Chapter 31

**_Chapter 31_ **

  
Théodred, Boromir, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf.

Carefully, meticulously, Théadain took her grief for each of her losses and locked them away. As if at the back her mind there lay a wooden chest, into which she could pour the heart-wrenching agony that threatened to overwhelm her. Methodically, she packed them away, as if they were winter cloaks at the beginning of a long summer, settling them with care, promising to return her thoughts to them when she could bear it, when she could afford to let herself break.

Now was not that time.

Now she needed every ounce of strength she could muster if she was to face what she dreaded most. Éomer had confirmed her fears that her father's condition had indeed worsened, and brought forth a terror that she could not have summoned from her worst nightmares.

She would lose Théodred.

But that hurt could not be unpacked yet, first she needed to reach him, to reach Edoras.

Beneath her, Wyndrun strove to live up to her name. The agile mare had sprung to life beneath Theádain and an instinctive wave of security and comfort had washed over her. The saddle was where she belonged, and whilst the mare was not her Folca, she was beautifully trained, responding to the prompts of her body and voice as if they were one. This was the gift of the Rohirrim, to know their horses like no other race could.

Théadain called upon that gift now, giving the mare the freedom to lengthen her strides. Edoras lay two day's ride to the South of where they had met Éomer's company that morning. Two day's ride at a controlled canter and making camp for the night between – Théa would allow herself no such luxury. They rode hard at a frantic gallop, the wind stinging her eyes as she bent low over Wyndrun's neck. As long as her mount could keep moving, she would.

The grasslands of Rohan whipped past her in a blur as she kept her mind focused on reaching their end goal. A few times they slowed, stopping at the occasional stream for both horse and rider to drink and catch their breath, but she dared not linger long. Théodred was waiting; if she could not prevent him leaving her, she would not allow him to do so without her by his side.

She felt a strange sense of disconnection as she tried to keep thoughts of her brother free of emotion, those feelings still tightly locked away. It was as if part of her truly didn't believe it, instead believing that she would arrive at the Golden Hall to find her sibling well, laughing off her worry in his easy manner and proclaiming that Éomer was mistaken. It was all just a terrible mistake.

The sun climbed to its apex above her, and fell again as the hours drew on, uncounted by her as Wyndrun's hooves pounded on, eager to please her rider. She knew, as the sun sank behind the distant hills, that she should slow her pace, but she knew they were growing close now. They had put over a day's worth of ground behind them in a fraction of that time, and still her mount was willing, champing at her bit and tugging at the reins demandingly when Théa slowed her. It was as if she sensed their urgency, as if she knew time was running out.

"A little further..." Théadain soothed, rubbing the horse's sweat-slicked neck reassuringly as she drew her to a halt to check her bearings, glancing up to the stars as they began to appear overhead. "We can beat the dawn, Wyndrun."

*

They beat the dawn by several hours, both horse and rider near exhausted by the time the shadowed form of the city on the hill rose up through the darkness.

This was not how Theádain had envisioned her homecoming, but it seemed very little now happened as she envisioned it. Her picture of the future as she had seen it once lay torn in her mind, the mere fantasy of a child.

She did not feel the sense of relief and joy she had imagined as she felt the ground slope upwards beneath her as she approached the gate, instead one of dread settled on her as she drew up her exhausted horse beneath the firmly closed wooden doors.

"Open the gate!" She called breathlessly, her hands trembling where they gripped the reins of her mount, "In the name of Théoden, King- open the gate!"

She saw the guard stir at her call, straightening from where he seemed to have been dozing at his post in the watchtower at the gate; "Lady Théadain?"

"Back from the dead it would seem." She muttered, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as the gates opened with a creak. With no time for a word of explanation, she urged Wyndrun to ride just a little further, clattering up through the silent streets of her city, past dark houses where not a solitary light burned.

A tiny glimmer of comfort, of hope and reassurance stirred in her heart as she dismounted in front of the steps of the Golden Hall of Meduseld, cloaked in shadow save for the lone brazier that burned like a beacon at the door, illuminating forms of the two men that stood guard, and one who sat staring into the flames, perched on a wooden stool.

"Háma..." She breathed as the light of the fire revealed the face of her father's loyal door guard, abandoning her mount at the foot of the stone steps as she bounded towards him. Seeing him rise with a suspicious frown at her approach, she stepped into the light, her legs trembling with the effort of carrying her up the steps after the long ride.

"Théadain?" He breathed in realisation as she nodded, swallowing thickly.

"Take me to my brother, Háma."

*

It was so quiet.

Part of her had expected a flurry of activity, of healers desperately trying to save him.

At the very least, she had expected her father to be here, standing vigil at his son's side as he took those final steps towards the end of his young life.

If it were not for the form of Éowyn, kneeling dutifully at his bedside, she would have found her brother slipping from this mortal world alone.

Though it mattered not who was here and who wasn't, she had made it, with so little time to spare, she had fallen to her brother's side in time.

"Théodred..." She choked softly as Éowyn looked at her cousin in amazement. Of all the things the younger woman had anticipated and dreaded as the night wore on, the appearance of her cousin was not one of them.

"Théadain... How...?" She breathed in shock as she took in the battered, exhausted appearance of the daughter of the king, reaching to touch her shoulder hesitantly, as if to check she was real. For a moment, her fatigued mind believed the woman was a spirit, that Théadain had truly fallen as Grima had declared and now she came to collect the soul of her brother.

She was real though, warm and solid beneath her hand, trembling uncontrollably as she looked down at the broken form of her brother as he lay on his bed before them, his chest rising and falling slowly as he drew in shallow breaths. There had been times during the night Éowyn thought he had slipped away as she whispered soft comforts to him, but somehow he had endured this long. Almost as if he knew his sister was close.

"I'm sorry, Théodred." Théa whimpered, reaching for his hand, a tiny sob passing her lips as she clutched his fingers. Now she could open the chest in her mind and release her grief, now she did not need to move or think. She could let herself break. "He's so cold Éowyn..."

"He has held on for so long." The blonde whispered mournfully, pressing close to her cousin and laying her head on her shoulder as they looked down into the youthful face of the dying man. She had already accepted his fate, the moment Éomer has shown her the extent of her cousin's wounds, she had known he would die. The acceptance made it no easier to bear, it only meant that her tears had already begun to fall.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Théadain breathed, reaching with her free hand to brush her fingers over her brother's cold cheek, a low sound of despair leaving her as Éowyn shook her head.

"Talk to him, Théa." She whispered, wrapping her arm around the other woman, "Whilst he still had strength he called your name, it will comfort him to know you are here."

Théadain nodded, tears slipping from her eyes unchecked as she gazed down at the form of her little brother, the boy she had shared in everything with, hopes and fears, joy and sorrow. She had protected him until he was old enough to protect himself, comforted him until he grew enough not to be afraid.

She could not protect him now, though perhaps she could comfort him.

And so, she spoke, softly recounting everything that had happened since she had ridden away from him so many months ago. Every detail she had imagined telling him over a mug of ale when her quest was done, knowing he would envy the unexpected journey she had embarked upon. She spoke of Rivendell, of the Council of Elrond and the Fellowship that was formed there. Each member she named and described fondly, reminding him of his friendship with Boromir in their youth, recalling Legolas' stories of Mirkwood and his skill with a bow, the charm and bravery of the Hobbits, the reassuring wisdom of Gandalf and the grouchy warmth of Gimli. When she came to speak of Aragorn, she could barely form the words to describe him, but she reassured her brother that he would have admired the quiet strength and nobility of the Ranger, failing to mention the bewildering hold the man held over her heart. No brother liked to hear of his sister's romances.

At her side, Éowyn listened, enthralled as she spoke of their journey, how her legs had ached and how she had grown to love each and every member of her Fellowship as they travelled through the freezing mountains and the fierce darkness of the Mines of Moria. She choked on her words as she told him of how Gandalf had fallen, and how the elves of Lothlorien had sheltered them as they mourned him.

Her words grew quieter as the night drew on, her throat hoarse from speaking and crying when she was overwhelmed by grief and could not continue her story, but still she made herself continue, whispering mournfully of the Battle of Amon Hen, and how she had lost Boromir.

"I must stop surrounding myself with such valiant men, Théodred." She whispered as she laid her head down on the pillow by his head, her body too weary to keep her upright where she knelt on the cold stone floor, "They keep breaking my heart by insisting on heroic deaths."

Beside her, Éowyn had also laid her head on the bed, her soft, regular breathing telling Théadain that she had slipped into an exhausted sleep. Carefully, she rose and crawled into the bed beside her brother, too afraid to hold him in case she caused his wounded body any pain, instead continuing to clutch his hand and soothe her fingers over his hair as she lay atop his blankets.

"It is almost dawn, Théodred." She choked, reaching out to lay her hand on his cheek, recalling the words she would speak to him when he would sneak into her bed as a child, tearful after a nightmare, "The night is passing, there will be no darkness soon."

She swallowed thickly as he stirred a little under her hand, as if he had heard her words, his breathing catching and shuddering as his body fought to keep going. "I'm here now Théodred, it's alright." She whispered as her tears soaked the pillow beneath her face, "You don't have to keep fighting, we'll be alright."

She prayed her words would reassure him as she gazed down at his face. He seemed more peaceful now, as the darkness of the candlelit room eased to a weak grey. Somewhere beyond the hall, the sun was beginning to rise.

His breathing shuddered a little, the pauses between his inhales and exhales grew long, and she knew it was time; "I won't say goodbye, I don't think I could bear that." She echoed the words they had parted with so long ago, her voice a broken whisper, "I love you Théodred."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of my wonderful readers, I've received some truly lovely messages in the last few days, I promise I'll get back to each and every one of them, it means so much to hear what you think of the story!  
> (And I hope you forgive me if this chapter was too much of a stab in the heart...)


	32. Chapter 32

_**Chapter 32** _

  
Aragorn's keen grey eyes watched the thin wisp of smoke curl from his own lips towards the starry heavens as he softly exhaled. Whilst his body was weary, craving the oblivion of sleep, his mind was restless, combing over all that had occurred to lead him to his resting place, here at a vantage point above the plains of Rohan.

He could not close his eyes yet, even as he leant against the rock at his back, supporting him as his fingers loosely gripped his pipe. Rest would not come to him whilst his mind lingered on her. He could not forget the veiled pain that shone from Théadain's eyes as she had bid him farewell only that morning.

Had it truly been so little time? So much had come to pass since then, since he had stood watching her disappear over the plains before Legolas had called him back to their purpose, their hunt.

First had come the dread, and the anguish of believing that Merry and Pippin were dead, that the horse-lord, Éomer had not lied when he had told them they left none alive. That tormenting sense of failure had threatened to crush him in that moment. The belief that he had not done enough, that he had not pushed himself harder to save them was enough to make him lose all composure. His foot still throbbed uncomfortably from where he had chosen to release his anguish in the form of a poorly placed kick to an Uruk helmet, but in the moment it had helped. It had grounded him enough to make him notice the tracks that the Halflings had left, leading them into Fangorn, and to Gandalf.

Gandalf. Part of him still could not fully believe it, that the wizard lived. Survived or reborn, he was not sure, but he had returned to them.

Aragorn glanced at where the wizard stood, silently surveying the land below them. They had spoken together before he had urged Aragorn to rest, knowing they would need all of their strength in the coming days. The words Gandalf had spoken still echoed in the man's mind, his chest still tight with trepidation after the mention of his bloodline; _'Sauron fears you, Aragorn. He fears what you may become.'_

He had not dared admit that he _himself_ feared what he may become. Yet he had succeeded once where his forefathers did not, he had let Frodo go, he had refused the Ring when the Hobbit had offered it to him. The temptation had been there, he had felt it, something deep inside him whispered seductively of the power that would come with the Ring, but he had refused. Perhaps he was stronger than he had imagined.

It was the wizard's grim revelation about the land they stood on that still haunted him, however; _'Rohan is weak and ready to fall. Théadain will need you, Aragorn.'_

He had dreaded this, ever since they had set foot onto the plains of Rohan, he had dreaded the moment Théadain would discover how dire things had become in her homeland. He had expected the news of the king growing worse, but hearing that her brother had fallen? No, neither he nor Théadain could have anticipated that. It had been so clear to see how it had crushed her when Éomer had told her, so soon after he had feared her broken over the death of Boromir. He did not know how she would bear this fresh pain.

He hoped she had made it to her brother in time, at least, that she would be granted the closure of having made it to his side before the end. But now she must face the prospect of healing the wounds that crippled her broken kingdom alone - should the king's health fail, Rohan had no male heir, as long as Éomer remained banished. He suspected that this had been Saruman's plan, to leave Rohan adrift and leaderless. Gandalf had implied that there was an attack coming against the World of Men and without action, Rohan would not be able to withstand it.

He could not bear to think of Théadain alone, or worse, surrounded by those who sought to destroy her family. He wished he had been able to follow her, if he had known that Merry and Pippin were safe he would have ridden with her. The desire to stand by her stretched beyond those feelings they had fought to lay to rest between them. Whilst she had made it clear that she would not allow herself to succumb to that longing, and he had respected that, he could not forget the way she had brought his fingers to her lips at their parting. There had been something desperate in her eyes then, calling out to him. He wished he could have held her, comforted her. This was more than a need to make a physical connection with her, he wanted to protect her, shelter her from her pain. Laying aside his feelings would not be as easy as he had hoped - this went beyond physical desire, his heart was now thoroughly involved, and the prospect was a terrifying one.

He would have to face it though, and soon. He had promised he would find her, and with the dawn they would ride for Edoras.

*

As the sun had strained to breach the thick curtains of the bedchamber, Éowyn had stirred from her exhausted sleep by Théodred's deathbed. She had known before she had even opened her eyes, by the silence of the room and the heaviness of her heart, that he was gone.

Slowly she had unfolded her stiff limbs to stand, a trembling breath of grief passing her lips as she looked down at the bed, seeing where Théadain lay, sleeping soundly beside the body of her brother, her hands securely wrapped around his as she lay atop the blanket, still dressed in her travelling clothes, her sword still belted at her hip.

The younger woman had stood for a long moment, letting her own pain wash over her as the light beyond the window grew a little stronger, before she had moved to rouse Théadain. It had to be done, though she was reluctant to part them, and fearful that Théadain would not have realised he had passed. However, as her tawny eyes had opened, she saw there was no shock there, no realisation that her brother was no longer with them. She had been with him when he had gone, and only then she had let herself rest.

Carefully, Éowyn prised her hands away from Théodred's, helping the redheaded woman to her feet where she swayed a little, reaching out a hand to her cousin for support. Behind her eyes, she seemed hollow, a shell of herself, as if her mind had buried her pain deep to protect her. She needed more rest, but for now it would have to wait. Her arrival in the night would not have gone unnoticed, and she would need to go before her father soon, but not yet, Éowyn had a little time to prepare her.

Drawing on that strength had had served her so faithfully as she had been left alone to hold her household together, Éowyn led her cousin to her own chambers, carefully helping her remove the clothes that had clearly seen battle recently, judging by the dried blood at the seams and the tears that matched the cuts and bruises on Théa's skin beneath. She let her wash herself, and then carefully tended to the larger of her cousin's wounds that needed attention, an angry gash at her hairline, and a long cut across her thigh. The others would heal without help, though the wound in her heart would need time.

Once Théadain had been dressed in the garb of her people once more, a flowing grey woollen skirt that would not aggravate her leg wound, a shirt of rich, deep green and her burgundy velvet jerkin, Éowyn guided her to sit on her bed, carefully beginning to comb the tangles from her hair. As the minutes had passed, a little light had returned to Théadain's eyes. She still seemed so lost, but she was more aware now, responding to Éowyn's soft whispers with nods or small sounds. As she sat on the bed, staring at the far wall, she spoke, her voice soft and weary;

"Is he much changed, my father?" She whispered, "Éomer said he had grown worse..."

"You will find him changed." Eowyn murmured truthfully as she moved the comb through her hair in gentle motions; "He... I don't think he understood when I told him of Théodred. He worsened greatly when your horse was found and Grima declared you dead... It was as though he gave up whatever strength he had left."

"I left a letter..." She insisted softly, turning to look at her cousin, "Was it not found?"

"It was _his_ men that found Folca, if it was found, I don't believe we would have been told."

Wearily, Théadain sighed and nodded, "Take me to him Éowyn, though... I do not think I have the strength to tell him of Théodred."

*

Théadain had thought before that her father had looked aged beyond his time, that he had looked weak and near the end of his life when she had left so many months ago. Now, to see that face would have been a relief, in comparison to what she faced now.

The king that sat slumped in his throne before her held no trace of the man who had raised her, even his eyes had clouded over white, unseeing. It was his body, of course, she could see a little familiarity in the shape of his face if she looked beyond the wrinkled folds of paper-thin skin. If she had thought once that his pallor had looked grey, now he seemed as though he was made of dust, as if one misplaced touch would cause him to crumble. Yet somehow his head had the strength to wear his crown.

That was what told her that the man inside this shell was no longer her father. He had never worn the crown, save for ceremonial occasion. He had always said that his people should not need to see a band of metal around his head to know their king. Now it was as if the crown was placed there to desperately insist that the people respect him, and Théadain suspected it had not been her father's choice.

If she had not prepared herself to see him worse than before, she might have been frightened. His appearance was a physical embodiment of decay, something all mortals feared, but looking past that he seemed pitiful, small even, huddled in the thick fur of his coat. The way his head lolled weakly as Éowyn moved to kneel at his side, leaving Théadain stood before the dais, reminded her of a ragdoll. He had not looked up at her approach, but she could not identify if she felt any additional grief at his lack of response to her presence, emotionally she was spent, there was nothing more to give.

She had thought that after Boromir's death she had been left with half a heart to live with, now she was sure that remaining half had been torn from her chest too. She felt so empty, so without hope.

"My lord," Éowyn murmured as she knelt at his side, the emotion in her voice carefully controlled as she took his hand; "Your son... He is dead."

Théadain watched carefully for any sign of life in the eyes of her father, any flicker that would tell her that he understood the words.

"My lord? Uncle?" Éowyn whispered, her tone pleading as he did not react, "Will you not go to him? Will you do nothing?"

"Father..." Unable to stand by, Théadain moved to kneel before the throne, taking his other hand; "Hear me, father. It is your Théadain, I've come home..." She swallowed thickly as he turned a little, making a soft groaning sound at the effort of looking at her; "Father? Please, I need you, I don't know what I am supposed to do... I... Théodred is gone, Father..."

Perhaps she _was_ capable of feeling more pain, it certainly felt that way as his milky eyes seemed to look through her, not seeming to hear her pleas as fresh tears filled her own eyes.

"Théa..." Éowyn whispered, gently laying a hand on her cousin's shoulder as she shook her head.

"Leave me with him, Eowyn, perhaps he will hear me if I stay a little longer." She murmured, reaching up to lightly touch her father's cheek. She felt her cousin rise and her footsteps fade away behind her as she continued to search her father's gaze for any sign of recognition."Forgive me for not saving you, for not saving him." She whispered guiltily as a tear slipped from her eye, "I would never have left if I hadn't thought I could prevent this..."

Behind her, hesitant footsteps made her turn, and her gaze hardened as she watched her father's advisor, Grima, slip into the hall from a side door. The sight of the hunched form of the manipulative little man had once disgusted her, now it filled her with rage - a burning flame flaring in the hollow space in her chest that had been carved out by her grief.

"Grima." She frowned, rising to her feet to release her father's hand, dashing the tears from her eyes with her fingers. It was now she became aware of the presence of the men by the door. She had not seen them as Éowyn had led her to her father, but it was odd to have so many present so early in the morning.

"Lady Théadain?" He smiled thinly, feigning surprise to veil his alarm as he took in her appearance. This was a complication he had ruled out long ago - she was not supposed to return. Saruman had assured him that the daughter of the king would be taken care of when he sent his Uruk-hai to disrupt the party she travelled with. Still, she was a minor complication, one that could be taken care of in the way Éomer or Théodred had been. "My lady, your return is the most joyful news, we feared you dead-"

"So I am told." She frowned down at him as she stepped down from the dais. Even standing on level ground, the way he hunched and clutched at his clothing meant that she had to look down to meet his pale, calculating eyes. She would not allow his silky words to manipulate her, he had held too much power in this hall for too long. "Though my return is not a joyful one. The son of the king..." Her throat hitched as for a moment, the words would not come. Her lips could not form the confirmation, but a breath steadied her spirit. "My brother is dead."

"Oh..." His face contorted into an expression of sorrow, "My lady, forgive me, his passing must cause you great pain..." His eyes flickered to the unresponsive form of her father behind her, "I can see your father is deep in his grief, I am sure your presence will be a comfort to him."

"My father is deep in something other than grief, Grima, do not take me for a fool." She snarled softly, his artificial mourning for her brother angering her. She stepped forward to close the space between them, her burning eyes daring him to back away, "I see what has been done to him, I see your treachery, _Wormtongue_."

"Just as your brother did."

His low purr made something in her snap. The implication that he had taken some role in her brother's death, the plain threat to her, she would not let it stand. Her hands flew out to grip the lapels of his coat and jerk him towards her, and for a moment she saw his cool composure break, she saw fear flash in his eyes as she almost lifted him off his feet, her teeth bared as some animalistic instinct took hold. And then his eyes flickered to the men at the door, pointedly, confidently.

Then Théadain understood why they were there. They had taken a few steps towards them when she had gripped the man they shadowed, but as Grima held up a pale hand, they hesitated. He had made his warning, and now this was a display of power, he thought himself untouchable.

With a supressed snarl, she released him, schooling her features into a mask of composure as she slowly and deliberately soothed her hands over where she had crumpled his coat. He was not the only one that could make threats.

"Keep your dogs close, Grima." She whispered, leaning in close to his ear, "There's a lioness shadowing your footsteps."


	33. Chapter 33

**_Chapter 33_ **

  
She could not bear to go back to Théodred's bedchamber, she was not ready to see her brother laid out, being prepared for burial by the women of the court. She did not want to let anyone see her grief, for she knew that when she looked at him the anguish would come pouring out. She needed to do _something_ though, to hold back the prickle of tears in her eyes, to press down the lump in her throat that she could hardly breathe past. So Théadain focused on what she could control, what she could do to try and begin healing the wounds that scarred her home. The thought was beginning to settle in her mind that drastic action would need to be taken, and soon. She could almost feel it in the air, how weak and vulnerable her homeland was, and now it seemed she was the only one left who could try to change that.

The morning was still young as she stepped from the shadowed hall onto the parapet that surrounded it, breathing in the clear air of the early Spring dawn. The city was quiet, the sounds of daily life muffled by a blanket of mourning.

"They know already?" She murmured softly as Háma approached her side, his expression one of carefully contained sorrow. He had loved and respected her brother as any man of the Mark did, he had looked to him as their future king.

"Gamling informed the people shortly after dawn, Lady Éowyn asked him to."

"I would rather they heard it from him than Grima." She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as she braced to hear the answer to her next question. "What has become of my company, Háma?"

"Baldan has led them well in your stead." He reassured her softly, "They are currently patrolling the outer limits of the city."

She breathed a sigh of relief as she nodded, fearing some disaster similar to what had befallen her brother's company; "I want them summoned, Háma. There is much to be done here, and I need my men with me."

"I sent a rider shortly after you arrived last night, my Lady. I expect they will return soon." He smiled softly, seeing how she turned to look to him in surprise, "There are still those in Edoras who remember your father as he was. We saw his strength in your brother and we see it in you. Whatever can be done to support you, it will be done. If you ask it, we will follow you."

"Follow me?" She frowned, her fingers digging into her upper arms at the implication of his words, "Háma I am not the heir to the throne, when Éomer returns it is he who will need your allegiance."

"Until then, the people will look to you. Whether you are set to inherit the throne or not, they see you as a leader."

"Only until his return." She sighed, shaking her head, "I am no queen, Háma. That was never the life I was destined to have... I know you hope I will have the strength to drive away the poison that has infected our land, and I pray I have it too. I value your support, but do not place a crown on my head." She swallowed thickly, glancing around to ensure there was no one nearby to overhear them; "Once Théodred is laid to rest, then I will take action. I will risk nothing until after the funeral."

"As you wish, my Lady." He nodded, understanding her reasoning, "We await your word."

*

Tomorrow, they would bear her brother's body down to the burial mounds outside the city walls. Together with Éowyn, Théadain had agreed that there was no need to wait. In days of old, fallen kings would be laid out in the Golden Hall for days for their people to stand vigil over, allowing them to pay their respects. But Théodred was no king of old, and the people of Edoras no longer felt welcome amongst the shadow and chill of the hall. There was no need to stand on ceremony.

Éowyn was handling her grief beautifully, Théa thought, allowing herself to weep but doing so with such grace, unlike herself, who had sealed her emotions off so firmly. It seemed to Théadain that something had unsettled the White Lady, beyond her sorrow for Théodred, and it did not take her long to guess that her father's skulking advisor was behind it. It seemed that in her absence, he had continued to leer over her cousin's beauty, and now it appeared that the younger woman was reluctant to remain in the hall, seeking solitude on the parapet outside as she mourned.

Théadain was almost grateful for her absence. It meant Éowyn could not beg her to take rest, for she knew she could not. As the day wore into the afternoon, she took up her vigil in the hall near her father's throne, keeping watch as Grima whispered to him and mourners gathered in the space as she busied herself with the task of sharpening and polishing Théodred's sword. She would not allow her brother to be laid to rest with a battered weapon. For herself, she had taken the small dagger her brother had carried with him as a way of carrying his memory with her. It lay now beside her own sword in her bedchamber, awaiting the moment she would need it.

The task of caring for the sword gave her time to think, to settle on the plan that had tugged at her mind since her conversation with Háma that morning. She knew now what she must do, though it was nothing short of treason.

Tomorrow, she would kill Grima. It was the clearest solution in her mind, unpleasant as it was. She was a soldier, not an assassin, she had never ended the life of an unarmed man, but without him his sell-swords would scatter, and perhaps if he was gone Saruman would not be able to continue controlling her father.

She was under no illusion though, she knew that freeing her father of the wizard would likely kill him. It was plain to see that magic was the only thing holding his wasted body together, if Saruman released his hold on her father, she would lose him too.

Though she knew that the father she remembered would not have wanted to live like this. Better a dead king than a wizard's puppet.

Grima's death would draw other traitors from the shadows, it would be clear what she had done, and for the treasonous crime she would be put to death. That would be where she would need her company, they would need to root out the remaining traitors in Rohan after she was gone, and support Éomer's rise to the throne.

The thought of her own fate did not alarm her as she thought it might have, but she had little to lose. Her brother was gone, her father soon would follow. Éomer would not need her support to take the throne, Éowyn would be enough, and her company would ride on under Baldan's command. She could not find it in her aching, hollow chest to regret the cold and calculated nature of her plot, she was exhausted beyond any emotion. The only regret tugging at her brought to mind thoughts of grey eyes and longing kisses, but matters of the heart could not come into this plan. Aragorn was likely far away, and it would be better if he did not become entangled in this. He would be better off without her anyway, there was a horrible pattern seeming to emerge in her life regarding the men she cared for.

In the low light of the hall, she held Théodred's broad sword before her, admiring the way the light glinted off the blade before she moved to sheathe it. She remembered the day her father had given it to him in this very hall, a memory that seemed to be bathed in the sunlight and warmth of better times. With a sigh she rose from her seat at one of the benches set off to the left of the hall, moving to set the sword aside as she heard the doors of the hall swing open. At first she paid no heed, presuming it was simply guards coming and going, but at the sound of Grima hissing urgently to her father, she turned. Unable to pick out his words, she moved to look around one of the great carved pillars that supported the ceiling. Perhaps her company had returned, the appearance of her men would be enough to unnerve the advisor, particularly with her earlier threat still hanging in his mind.

What she saw however was enough to steal the breath from her lungs, enough to make her momentarily believe that she was seeing things, that her grief had finally sent her spiralling into madness.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King."

A voice she had last heard echoing off stone and battling fire now echoed through the Golden Hall, as she could not stop herself stepping forward, one hand braced against the wooden pillar to support herself as she took in his appearance. Cloaked in grey, grasping a white wooden staff and striding forward into the weak sunlight that fell from a high window, his face seemed unchanged from when she had last seen it.

" _Gandalf?"_ She breathed softly, unable to believe her own eyes. Her eyes that darted from the wizard to the elf at his side and the dwarf that flanked him.

And on Gandalf's other side, standing tall and casting his gaze warily over his surroundings, a man with grey eyes that she knew better than her own. Her lips fell open in an expression of awe as she watched the four stride towards her father's throne, her heart leaping as those grey eyes landed on her, an expression of recognition, of relief passing over the man's face before being carefully schooled back into neutrality.

She had to be dreaming, she had to have fallen asleep at the table, polishing her brother's sword.

But the slow, laboriously grating words that were pulled from her father's mouth confirmed what she saw, for she knew she could not have dreamed the sound of his changed voice.

"Why... should I welcome you... Gandalf, Stormcrow?"

"A just question, my liege." Grima sneered, rising to his feet as he looked the wizard up and down, clearly unaware of the sheer miracle that must have occurred to bring him to them, "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him." He spat, his bravado supported by the group of men that shadowed the steps of the newcomers on each side of the hall, "Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth." The wizard commanded him, seeming to have no patience for the advisor, "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."

With those words, he raised his staff to Grima, and for the second time that day, Théadain saw fear shining in the cold eyes of the simpering man.

"His staff- I _told_ you to take the wizard's staff!" He cried in panic, his eyes darting to the men that supported him as they rushed to the centre of the hall. With a sharp intake of breath, Théadain looked for her own support, her eyes settling on the forms of Gamling and Háma at the doors, both reaching for their swords. She shook her head at them as commandingly as she could. She would not risk them of being accused of starting this fray.

Besides, the hired muscle were no match for the instantaneous reactions of the elf, man and dwarf. She could not help but appreciate the swift, capable blows that Aragorn landed as she took her chance in the moment of chaos, seeing Grima staggering at the edge of the fight.

She had no weapon, save for Theodred's sword somewhere behind her, but she needed none.

Slipping from behind the pillar, she threw her arm around the throat of the man who had manipulated her kingdom into a wizard's plaything, grasping her own wrist to lock him in place with his back to her chest as a choked sound of shock left his lips.

"Doesn't look like your dogs can save you now, Grima." She snarled in his ear, tightening her hold as Gandalf stepped towards her father, the brawl between her companions and Grima's seemingly over.

"Théoden, Son of Thengel. Too long have you sat in the shadows." He announced, and as her eyes fell to her father's aged face, she inhaled sharply at the way he straightened, shying back from the wizard. "Harken to me!" Gandalf called, raising his hand to the king, "I release you from this spell."

Théadain's breath caught in her throat as she held Grima's struggling form firm, watching her father for any sign that the hold over him was lifted. This was what she had travelled to Rivendell for so long ago, to bring help. Now it had come, hope flared in her heart.

That is, until she heard the sound that left her father. It took her a moment to decipher the weary sound as laughter, but it grew in strength, becoming cruel and defiant. A sound she had never heard her father make.

"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey." He sneered, his voice stronger now than she had heard it in years, and she realised now that it was not her father speaking. This was Saruman, this was his power.

As the chilling laugh continued to spill from the King's mouth, the wizard cast back his grey cloak, and in her arms Grima visibly flinched at the blindingly white robes he wore beneath. Even though she knew it was not truly her father, Theadain's hold on the man weakened at the pained gasp that came from him as Gandalf stepped closer.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound." He promised firmly, raising his staff as the body of her father was thrown back in the throne.

"Father-" Théadain choked, lurching forward to go to him, releasing Grima to let him fall to a crumpled heap on the floor before Legolas' hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked to her friend in confusion, seeing his eyes clearly communicate that they had to wait, to allow Gandalf to do what he must. That morning she had thought she could accept that her father would not survive, but to let him go through this alone? She was not sure she had the strength to stand by. Footsteps behind her drew her gaze and she whimpered a little as Éowyn dashed towards the king, only to be caught and held back by Aragorn.

"If I go, Théoden dies."

The words that her father snarled in a voice that was not his own confirmed her fears, and she felt her knees buckle a little as Legolas held her firmly.

"You did not kill me. You will not kill him." Gandalf insisted, forcing him back with a gesture of his staff, even as the face of her father contorted into such an expression of cruelty as to render him unrecognisable to his own daughter.

"Rohan is _mine_."

"Be gone!"


	34. Chapter 34

**_Chapter 34_ **

  
"Be gone!"

At the wizard's final command, Theadain gasped in horror as her father lurched forward, as if to attack Gandalf, but was forced back with a final cry by the wizard's spell. Watching him slump back in the throne, and hearing the pained, pitiful sound that left his lips, Théadain finally tugged herself free of the elf's hold to run to him, catching her father just as he seemed to lifelessly slip from the chair.

"Father- Father?" She sobbed, not realising that her eyes had filled with tears as she had watched. He was alive, he did not go fully limp in her arms, and as Éowyn reached his other side they were both able to support him, to help him sit up.

A sob of disbelief escaped her lips as she gazed into his face, unable to look away as the cloud lifted from his eyes, changing from milky white to the brilliant blue she remembered. Slowly, colour returned to his grey skin, the papery folds of which seemed to smooth, as if the years of aging that had fallen upon him were being lifted away. Even the grey wisps of his hair thickened and returned to the familiar, gold tones that had long since faded. She watched as his eyes settled on her cousin as she knelt before him, a smile breaking across her lovely face that had been mournful and afraid for so long.

"I know your face." Théoden breathed softly, his voice returned to the gentle tones that had raised the two women. He smiled down at his niece as he whispered her name, leaning into her hand as she touched his cheek, before looking to the other presence that held him up, his eyes widening in disbelief as his took in the form of his daughter. "Théadain?"

"I'm here father." She choked, a smile of joyful relief spreading across her lips as she saw the recognition in his eyes, clutching at his hand as he reached for her.

"My Theádain- you were gone, they said you were dead..."

"No father." She breathed reassuringly, cupping his cheek as she gazed into his eyes, unable to look away, "I'm here, I'm with you and I will _never_ leave your side again." She swore earnestly, watching as he reached to touch her hair affectionately, before turning to gaze out at the hall. She watched as he took in the wizard before him, whispering his name in confusion, as if he recalled none of what had just passed between them.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend." The wizard smiled tiredly, seemingly exhausted after his trial against Saruman.

Slowly, with a little help from the two women at his side, the king rose to his feet, looking around as the guards and mourners in the hall dropped to kneel before him. Carefully, Théadain released her hold on her father, letting him stand unsupported before his people.

"Dark have been my dreams of late." He breathed, looking down at his hands, as if he was only just seeing the change that had come over him.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better, if you grasped your sword." Gandalf suggested with a smile, as Háma stepped forth from the crowd gathered in the hall, kneeling to present the king with his sheathed sword, Herugrim.

As she watched her father reach out to take it, Théadain wiped at the tears tracking down her cheeks, unable to look away as he drew the sword that she had not seen in years, with no tremor in his hand or arm as he held the heavy weapon aloft.

"Hail, Théoden King." She breathed softly, smiling as her father met her eyes before turning to cast his gaze over the people before him, his look hardening as his eyes settled on Grima, cowering on the floor where Théadain had dropped him.

"Cast this snake from my hall." He breathed, his tone taking on one of vengeance, and in that moment, Théadain felt it burning in her own chest.

"As you wish." She uttered, striding down from the dais with a nod to Gamling, "Your King has made an order, Gamling, will you see it done?"

"Gladly, my Lady." He grinned, setting his sights on Grima's simpering form as he grasped him by the scruff of the neck, letting the crowd part as he hauled the man from the hall. She paused only so that she would not walk ahead of her father, allowing him to lead them after the traitor, his grip on his sword firm. If this was his first act as a renewed man, it seemed fitting, to cut down the one who had reduced him to so little.

In the bright light of day beyond the doors, Théadain stood at the top of the steps as she watched Grima gasp in pain, laying at the foot of the flight he had been thrown down.

"I have only ever served you my lord!" He tried to plead as her father began to descend the steps towards him.

"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" The king snarled as he slowly approached, the threat in his voice clear.

"Send me not from your sight!" Grima begged, his hands flying to cover his face as Théa watched her father raise his sword with a grim sense of satisfaction. This was no more than the man deserved.

Though, as Aragorn dashed from the top of the steps, she frowned in bewilderment as he caught her father's arm, preventing him from bringing the sword down on the traitor.

"No, my Lord!" He called, steadying the king as Théadain moved down the steps towards him, "No, my Lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account." He breathed, stepping back as she approached. She watched as the dark-haired man reached out a hand to Grima, as if to help him up, but recoiled as the cowering man spat at his outstretched fingers, scrambling to his feet to flee the steps, pushing his way through the crowd of citizens that had gathered. As she watched him go, she felt anger flare in her. By what right did Aragorn feel he could deny her father this? He knew nothing of what they had suffered at Grima's hand, what _she_ had suffered. The growing feeling of bitterness surprised her as she watched Aragorn step back to look at her father.

"Hail, Théoden King!" He called to the crowd, and she frowned as she watched him take a knee before the king, as if that would heal the insult. Bowing her own head respectfully as her father turned, she watched as he scanned the faces on the steps, her stomach knotting as she realised who he looked for.

"Where is Théodred?" He breathed softly, looking to his daughter and seeing her eyes fill with tears, "Where is my son?"

"Father..." She breathed, her anger at Aragorn forgotten as the man got to his feet beside her, his face painted with concern as he watched Théadain reach for her father's hands, gently prying the sword from his grasp and handing it off to Háma as he approached. "Come inside father, please." She begged, knowing he should not be forced to hear in front of all of these people. She knew, however, in the same way that she had felt the same sense of dread when Éomer had prepared her for this news, that her father could see something was terribly wrong.

She had managed to get him inside the shelter of the hall before she told him, making sure the people of the city would not hear the desperate wail of raw grief that erupted from their king. As she held him tightly, clutching her father close, she sobbed with him, finally allowing the emotions that she had walled away to break free.

She was grateful that all but Éowyn were kept from the hall, pulling her cousin into their embrace as she approached. She did not know how long they stood for, clutching each other close as if they were a port in a storm - finally safe, reunited, yet battered by the waves of grief.

"Take me to him." Her father whispered mournfully, at last able to summon words as he drew his daughter and niece close, "Take me to Théodred, I must see him."

So, the three moved to stand alone in Theodred's bedchamber, where Théadain had lain watching her brother take his last breaths, only hours ago that morning.

He was laid out now, dressed in his shining armour with his arms crossed over his chest, his hair combed and his skin cleaned, the whole room smelling faintly herbal, masking the smell of death. He looked peaceful though, Théadain thought as she gazed down at him. If it weren't for the deathly pallor of his skin, she could have convinced herself he was sleeping.

"Was he alone?" Her father whispered brokenly after a long moment as he gazed down at his son.

"No..." She reassured him softly, squeezing his arm where she held him tightly, "We were both with him."

"Good..." He breathed, nodding as he swallowed thickly, "I would hate to think of him being alone."

She nodded in response to his words, leaning her head on her father's shoulder as she clutched his arm; "Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?"

She felt the king draw in a shuddering breath at her words as he looked down at his son; "He has passed like rain on the mountain... Like a wind in the meadow." He softly replied to his daughter's line of verse, causing fresh tears to gather in her eyes.

Unable to speak any more, she tore her gaze away from her brother, unable to remain in the room a moment longer. The grief was stifling, suffocating, the smell of the herbs making her feel like she couldn't breathe. This was not how she wanted to remember him.

Wordlessly, she slipped from the bedchamber, leaving her father and Éowyn to mourn as she strode into the empty hall, pressing her hand to her mouth to trap the sob that threatened to tear its way out. Slowly she composed herself, hearing voices outside the door and knowing she would need to let them in soon. She would have to face them all, her people, her companions, Aragorn.

The sound of one voice made her look to the door in alarm, raised above the others, shouting.

"Where is she? What do you mean they've shut everyone out? Damnit Háma I know she's in there, let me in-"

She rushed to the door at the sound, jerking it open to find Háma physically trying to hold Baldan back from the doors, most of the crowd dispersed but the guards and the members of the broken Fellowship remaining. Below the steps of the hall, her company had arrived.

"Baldan!" She choked as he looked up, the older redheaded man meeting her eyes with a smile of relief as he lunged for her, catching the young woman in his arms and embracing her tightly.

"I knew it was lies." He breathed gruffly into her shoulder, "I knew you couldn't be dead, not our Lioness."

"It was close at times, Baldan, believe me." She gasped tearfully, clinging to her old friend.

"Your brother, Théa I'm so sorry, all of the men- they're heartbroken."

She nodded wordlessly, forcing back her tears as she pulled back from him a little, "I'm so glad you're here, Baldan."

"Here and ready to receive orders once more, Marshal." He smiled gently, squeezing her shoulders.

"Orders." She laughed weakly, wiping her cheeks to chase her tears away, "Rest, you and all of the men. See your families, hold them close."

"And then, my Lady?"

"And then tonight I want you at my side to raise a tankard of ale to my brother." She whispered, clasping his shoulder, "He would want it no other way."

"As you wish." He smiled, stepping back, "The men will be glad to see you."

"And I them." She breathed, nodding to Háma, "And you should rest too, my friend. Let these people in and go home to your son. Our doors will still stand come morning."

"My lady." He smiled and nodded his acceptance of her orders, turning to follow Baldan down the steps, leaving her standing before Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn.

Aragorn could not help but watch her with slight awe, for the first time truly seeing the love her people held for her, and how effortlessly she interacted with them. Her orders were not commands, but requests to friends who followed them unquestioningly. Before him stood the Third Marshal of Rohan, the daughter of the king. He thought he had understood before, when she had spoken of her home with such love and affection, but now he saw it with his own eyes. Even broken by sorrow, she stood strong at the doors of her father's hall, ready to welcome them in.

Though he could see as she glanced between them, there was something weighing on her.

"Merry and Pippin?" She whispered softly, her tone one of sorrowful acceptance as she looked to Gimli, "They're gone, aren't they?"

"They're safe, lass." The dwarf breathed, reaching for her hand as her shoulders sagged with visible relief. She had not dared hope for such an outcome when she had seen them arrive without the Hobbits. "I don't rightly understand how or where, but they're safe."

"Safe in Fangorn." Gandalf smiled, reaching to lay his hand on the young woman's shoulder, "Come Théadain, there is much to talk of."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as always! I really hope you're enjoying the story so far, don't forget to drop a comment to let me know what you think! X


	35. Chapter 35

_**Chapter 35** _

  
The Golden Hall of Meduseld was stifling. Too full of mourners and sorrow, and of joy that their king had returned to his full strength, and his daughter returned with him. The conflicting emotion was more than Théadain could bear.

After her companions had told her of what had happened after she had left them on the plains, and Gandalf had described how he had survived his fall, she needed to get away, to process all that had come to pass.

In the space of a few days she had lost both Boromir and Théodred, she had come near to losing her father and had plotted treason, her cousin was banished and she had accepted the loss of Merry and Pippin only to discover their safety, and had seen Gandalf return from the dead.

It was more than her weary mind could comprehend. All she wanted to do was forget, to lose herself in some oblivion, whether it be ale or some physical escape.

As she rose to leave the hall, she caught Aragorn's eye as Gandalf moved to confer with Gamling, casting him a look which clearly demanded he follow her as she moved to the doorway that led to the family's private quarters. As she slipped through the door into the empty hallway, she leaned against the wooden wall with a sigh, closing her eyes as she let her head tip back. Her mind was screaming, and she needed to silence it.

"Théa?"

His soft murmur of her name pulled her from her thoughts, her eyes fluttering open to look up at him as he stood before her. She had missed him terribly, she could admit. His quiet strength and support would have eased some of her pain had he been with her, but at the same time she knew that she had needed to face those trials alone. They were her burden to bear, not his, but for now she did not want to think on that. She knew what she wanted.

"Aragorn." She breathed softly in reply, pushing off the wall to stand before him, reaching up to cup his cheek in one hand, "I... I was so glad... When I saw you in the hall..."

"I swore I would find you." He whispered earnestly, his hand moving to her own cheek to draw her close. He was reluctant to move too quickly, to close the gap between them and kiss her. She seemed so small and vulnerable now, away from her people, no longer having to carry herself with strength.

"Find me now." She demanded softly, her free hand grasping the front of his cloak to pull his lips to hers, her kiss urgent and pleading.

With a soft groan at her words, he swept her into his arms, his hand spaying against her back to press her body to his chest, his other hand finding her hip to tug her closer still. The few kisses they had shared had not been like this, when they had explored that gentle, controlled longing with care. This felt like thrusting his hand into a flame.

As her lips moved over his demandingly, parting with a low sound of desire, she pulled him back, her hands tugging at his clothing to drag him through a doorway she had opened behind her back, her lips never once leaving his.

"Théa-" He groaned softly as she pressed him back against the door, feeling his back hit the firm wood to close it in one fluid motion. She had not let his lips parting from hers slow her, her own lips finding his jaw, his neck, moving over whatever skin she could find as he pulled her to him unconsciously, his thoughts battling for dominance over his instincts.

"Aragorn..." She moaned softly, finding his lips once more as her fingers fumbled over the fastenings of his coat, tugging urgently at the closures as she grazed her teeth over his lower lip. This was what she had wanted, to lose herself in him and chase away every hurt, every thought that wasn't _Aragorn_. The gentle scratch of his stubble, the firm grip of his calloused fingers, the heady, masculine scent of cedar and pipe smoke. She knew nothing beyond him in that moment and it was bliss.

"Théadain- Théa wait..." He panted breathlessly, catching her wrists as he realised what she was doing. It was only then that he saw she had pulled them into a bedchamber, hers, he could tell by the scent of the room alone. Lavender and something unidentifiable that was simply Théadain.

"No, please..." She begged softly, struggling against his hold on her as he fought to overcome the desire to give in, to let her carry on.

But it wasn't right, even now as he looked at her, he could see the tears shining in her eyes.

"Not like this, Théa..." He whispered tenderly, moving to release her wrists and cup her cheeks, "Do not ask this of me, not now."

"Damn it Aragorn-" She growled, jerking back from his hands and stumbling a little away from the support of his arms. She could feel the hot, angry tears threatening to spill over as the pain rushed back into the space in her mind that had been filled with him, but she held on to them. She had cried too often today already. "Aragorn you and I both know I am not some blushing maid- this is all I ask of you, no promises, no loyalty- just _this._ " She gestured between them and vaguely in the direction of where her bed lay behind her. "I just... I need to stop _thinking_. Just for now, just this once..."

"You've said 'just this once' to me before, Théadain." He murmured gently, reaching for her hand as she snatched it away, clearly wounded by his rejection of her.

"I needed an escape, Aragorn, nothing more."

"I cannot grant you that." He whispered, finally managing to control his erratic breathing after their kiss. "Théa, do not think I do not want you."

"Then why not?" She cried, stepping closer, her hands rising as if to touch him again, before she balled them in to fists at her side.

"Because you are in _pain_ Théa, and I don't want the first night I spend with you to be an escape."

"What do you want then?" She laughed bitterly, "Whispers of love and candlelight? A damn marriage bed? Aragorn look at me, I'm a _curse_. The men I care about die in my arms and I'm not going to watch it happen to you!"

He stared at her across the room as she swallowed thickly, unable to meet his eyes, afraid she would see the hurt she intended to inflict there, "I _can't_ care for you Aragorn, if you are seeking love I cannot give it to you. This between us... It fulfilled a need, nothing more."

It was a lie, a cruel one. But his refusal to lay with her frightened her, the realisation that he truly cared for her was a terrifying one, and she could not let it go any further. She could not live through another loss, and after all, she had only ever seen love lead to loss.

She couldn't look at him, turning away so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes as she ran her hands through her hair, "Just go, Aragorn." She breathed, carefully controlling her voice so as not to let it break, "Leave me."

Behind her, she heard him release a shuddering breath, followed by the sound of her bedroom door being softly closed behind him as he left her alone.

There lay the difference between them, she thought wryly; she would have slammed the door.

*

Outside her door, his back once more pressed to the solid wood, Aragorn scrubbed his hands over his face with a low groan, trying to process all that had passed between them.

This was not what he had intended when he had followed her from the hall. He hadn't imagined that she would ask for _that_.

And he had so nearly given it to her.

His entire life had been restraint, careful control. With her it was all left in ruins.

It would have been so much easier to do so, to fall into her arms and grant her that escape that she longed for. He was no inexperienced youth, in his long life he had indeed _lived_ , he could have given her all that she wished for, but neither was he a man without restraint nor feeling. In his heart he had known that it wasn't right, not while her own heart was still broken, her brother's deathbed still cooling only a few rooms away.

Though, if he had indeed fallen into her bed, perhaps she would not have spoken those words that still rang in his ears. Her words that had cut him more deeply than he could have imagined they would.

When he had followed her from the hall, he had intended to draw her close, to comfort her and tell her of all the thoughts that had crossed his mind since she had left his side. His relief at seeing her again across the hall, his admiration of her strength and the love her people had for her, his promise that he would stand by her throughout the pain she so clearly felt.

She wanted none of it, and that thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

He had tried to warn himself when he had first realised that he was drawn to the headstrong Shieldmaiden, remind himself that he had sworn once before to never let his heart get entangled with another again. Théadain had been so unlike Arwen though, that he had thought perhaps this would be different, and it was. His previous love had faded quietly into the acceptance that their time together had ended, but this? This was not quiet. This was like trying to tame a wild animal, like trying to battle a raging fire that could not be put out.

She was burning him, yet he could not let go.

*

Alone in her room, Théadain had wept. For Théodred, for Boromir, for her family, for herself.

Every emotion she had so carefully packed away, she let loose. Here, behind her closed door, truly alone for the first time since she had left Rivendell, she was safe.

She had never been one to seek isolation, not as Éowyn often would, she had always found comfort in her company, or her family, but now her family was broken. Théodred was gone, Éomer banished, and those that were left behind were heartbroken.

Heartbroken for more reasons than one.

When she had shed her tears for the men she had lost, Théadain discovered, laying on her bed, that the tears kept coming, spurred on by her anger at herself, for the words she had spoken to Aragorn.

The thought of hurting him, of being without him, was a hideous one, but as her tears began to slow and dry on her cheeks, she told herself she had made the right decision. She had not set out to do so, but it had happened, and it was for the best.

What place did she have with him? He was Heir to the throne of Gondor, and she was a king's headstrong bastard daughter. His path lead where she could not follow, ending this attachment to him now would save her further heartache, and would save him realising that she was not what he wanted.

With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself up from the bed, moving to wash her face to try and clear her head. A swift glance in her looking glass revealed angry red blotches across her face and even redder eyes, but she was in mourning, she wasn't expected to look composed.

With a soft groan and a ruffle of her hair, she decided she needed to get out of the room. She did not want to see anyone, least of all _him_ , but she needed air.

Her feet carried her from her room to the parapet outside the hall, a weary sigh leaving her body as she sat on the edge of the wall that formed the foundations of the hall. Twilight had crept in around the building without her noticing, and it seemed that this desperately long day was finally drawing to a close.

"What am I supposed to do now, Théodred?" She whispered out into the gathering darkness, fixing her eyes on the plains out beyond the city. For so many months, every fibre of her being had been pulling her here, to her home. Now that she was back, her old life in tatters, what was she to do?

"Sit, have a drink with a friend, rest."

The soft voice replying to her question behind her made her turn, and she smiled tiredly as Baldan dropped to sit at her side, dangling his long legs over the edge of the wall with her as he pressed a mug of ale into her hands; "You look terrible."

"I feel terrible." She laughed weaklyp, looking down at her mug as she wrapped her hands around it.

"Then you are allowed to feel terrible, but only for tonight." He reassured her softly, "Théodred would not want you to spend your life mourning him."

"No... No, he wouldn't." She agreed softly, raising her mug to him with a small, sad smile, "To Théodred?"

"To Théodred, may he keep a bench warm for us in the halls of our fathers, until it is time for us to join him." Her friend smiled warmly, knocking his mug against hers before raising it to his lips.

"Until then." She agreed softly, before draining the mug. With a sigh, she cradled the empty vessel on her lap once more as she looked out over the plains, reminding herself that her focus should remain on the land of the living, rather than what lay beyond. "You are well then?"

"Very, my Lady. You are returned, our King is restored, and soon I will be a father." He smiled proudly down at her, receiving an answering smile of delight.

"Hela is with child?"

"We think it is mere weeks away." He chuckled softly, "You have been gone some time, Théadain."

"I know..." She nodded, biting her lip, "You will make a good father, Baldan. You did well keeping my _éored_ safe."

"All but Folhelm and the others that were banished, near two thousand men, from all companies." He muttered, shaking his head; "Háma told me you met Éomer's _éored_ , was the fool with them?"

"He gave me his horse." She smiled softly, "Don't be too hard on him for lashing out, Baldan, we were all ready to make rash decisions."

"Were you, my Lady?"

"If you had arrived a few hours earlier today my friend, you would have found me plotting treason." She admitted softly, looking down at her empty cup, "After Théodred's funeral, I planned to kill Grima."

Her friend said nothing for a moment, only nodding as he took a swig of his ale, "Aye, we'd have stood by you with that choice." He murmured after thinking, "But I'm glad it's not come to that."

"So am I... My father recovered... It's more than I could have hoped for." She breathed quietly.

"The wizard and those that followed him, you knew them?"

"They were the companions I have been travelling with." She nodded, "Though our number is depleted, divided. We set out from Rivendell with ten... One we lost; the others are scattered."

"And the Ranger that couldn't take his eyes off you?" He prompted, "What is the story there?"

"The story there is ended." She murmured firmly, shaking her head, "I... I fear I have hurt him, Baldan. Though I know I had to. Our paths will lead us down different roads and I can't bear to lose anyone else."

"But you care for him?"

"I..." She bit back the denial that rose to her lips, knowing her old friend would see through her lie; "So much that it frightens me, Baldan. And I know now that he cares for me too." She admitted softly, "Which is why I cannot let it go further. It was the right choice to make."

He raised an eyebrow at her, hearing the hesitation in her words, "You don't believe that, do you?"

"I must."

"Théadain..." He sighed, laying a hand on her shoulder, "I have watched you pass by men who would have laid down their life for your affections. Whoever this man is, whatever path he is on, if you truly care for one another..."

"It is not as simple as that." She shook her head. "It has to end here, and I have to believe I have made the right choice."

"Do I have to agree with your choice?"

"No." She smiled wryly, "No, Baldan, all I need is for you to stand by me and promise you won't get yourself killed. No more men in my life are permitted to die."

"As you wish, my Lady." Her friend chuckled softly, draining his ale as he pulled her to lean on his shoulder, sitting in companionable silence as they watched the sun slip behind the distant hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as always, and thank you so much for all of the wonderful comments so far! It means so much to hear from you lovely readers! X


	36. Chapter 36

_**Chapter 36** _

  
The funeral was terrible, harder than Théadain had imagined it would be. Laying her brother's body to rest and watching her father grieve for his child left her chest aching with despair.

Outside the Golden Hall, before the funeral procession had begun to move through the city and down the hillside like a great black snake, she had watched as her brother's body was borne down the steps by the pallbearers, her throat tightening as she marked Éomer's absence amongst their number. Her cousin should have been there, he should have been given his chance to bid farewell to Théodred, instead of serving an unjust banishment. Among the men that bore their prince stood Baldan, his expression of sorrow hidden behind his helmet. They had waited, looking to her and her father as they had stepped out to face the mourners that lined the pathway. She had known they were waiting for some parting words, but as her father stiffened at her side, unable to speak, she stepped forward.

"This day..." She paused to choke back the waver in her voice, struggling past the feeling that she had swallowed a mouthful of sand; "This day we lay to rest a Man of Rohan, a valiant warrior, a son, a brother in blood and arms and the man that should have been King." She spoke carefully, looking down from where she stood on the steps into her brother's face as he lay peacefully, his hands clasping both his sword and a sprig of the simbelmynë that would blanket his tomb. "Our Prince fell in defence of this land that he loved so fiercely, his duty is done now, his patrol is ended and we that are left must carry on." She drew in a trembling breath, biting her lip to force back her tears. "Today we mourn him, weep for him, but tomorrow we rally. My brother lived with such joy for life, such a love for his land and people... We must carry on, living as he lived, even after he is gone."

She had felt the eyes of her people on her as she bowed her head and nodded to the pallbearers, taking her father's arm as she led him down the steps, following Théodred's body to his resting place.

Whatever strength had supported her speech almost failed her on that long walk to the barrows. Had she not felt the comforting presence of those she loved around her - of Baldan and her company lining the path, her father at her side, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf walking a few paces behind - she may have crumbled under the weight of her loss. They buoyed her spirit, carrying her along like gentle waves, away from the undercurrent of grief that threatened to drown her.

Though she had not let her eyes settle on the form of Aragorn amidst her companions, she felt him there too. As if her spirit still reached for him, clinging to the tether of comfort his presence had always brought her.

Théadain could not bear to move after the men carried the great stone into place to seal off the tomb. For a moment she had stood staring at the slab, shivering as the chilling wind tugged at her hair and clothing, the words of Éowyn's haunting lament echoing through her mind. She had not realised that her cheeks were tracked with tears until a warm presence at her side drew her from her trance.

"He is at peace now, Théa." Aragorn murmured softly as he looked down at the trembling young woman at his side, longing to reach out and brush the tears from her cold cheeks, despite the fact that her words from the night before were still seared in his mind. He regretted that had not been able to express his sorrow for her loss before, when they had been alone. Now his words felt hollow, a formality murmured amongst a crowd where a comforting embrace would be viewed with quick glances and whispered of with gossiping tongues.

Swallowing back the salty taste of the tears that ran over her lips, Théadain trained her eyes on the waving white blooms that blanketed her brother's tomb like a shroud. "He was my younger brother." She whispered bitterly when her tight throat finally found the words she was searching for, unable to ignore the presence of the man at her side, "He should have been King. He should have grown old surrounded by his heirs. He should not have to be at peace."

"Théa.."

She brushed off the hand that reached for her shoulder, turning away as she felt as though she may suffocate if she stood amidst the crowd any longer. Leaving the mourners and shrugging off the comforting hands that reached for her, she strode away. Her feet guiding her back through the city to the stables where, reunited with her beloved Folca, she saddled him and rode out. Away from the city, away from the mourners dressed in black, away from the choking sense of sorrow that gripped her home by the throat.

She did not know where she was going, she simply let Folca guide her as she let her heart reconnect with the stallion and the land around her. She thought of nothing, not of her brother, or Boromir, or Aragorn, nothing save for the feel of the wind in her hair, the scent of grass and the endless plains that stretched before them. They followed the rise and fall of the grasslands, until the sun grew low in the sky and it felt to her that perhaps, her heart was a little lighter now.

*

When she finally brought herself to return to the hall, exhausted as she was, she could not help but look at the building in awe. It glowed. Lights in the windows, each brazier at the door burning brightly, it was Meduseld as she remembered it. Even as she dashed up the steps to push open the great doors, the light that filled the space was near blinding in contrast to the shadows that had lurked before. It was so _warm._

"Welcome home, my Lady." One of the guards at the door nodded to her as she strode past, and she offered him a weak smile in return.

Her eyes settled on her father first, taking in where he sat on his throne flanked by Gandalf, his head cradled in one hand, "Father?" She frowned, drawing close enough that she could hear Éowyn speaking to him as she stood from where she had knelt by a table. Only then did Théadain take in the forms of the two children, a boy and a girl, hungrily wolfing down bowls of stew.

"-now the Wildmen are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot and tree." Éowyn muttered, looking to her cousin as she approached.

"What has happened?" Théadain breathed, looking to the little girl as she called for her mother, seeing Éowyn turn to wrap a blanket around her. The air was thick with tension, not the quiet contemplation that should have followed a burial.

"They fled the Westfold." Her cousin murmured softly, standing again so the children would not hear, "Our lands are under attack, Théadain."

Swallowing thickly, the redheaded woman turned to look at her father, suddenly understanding why those around her seemed to have so swiftly laid aside their mourning. "I can muster my _éored_ , we can ride out tonight."

"This is but a _taste_ of the terror Saruman will unleash." Gandalf shook his head, gesturing to the children, "All the more potent for he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Your company will not be enough, Théadain." He turned to look at her father, and she saw the king bristle a little as the wizard laid a hand on the arm of his throne. "Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children." Gandalf breathed, "You _must_ fight."

"You have two thousand good men riding North as we speak." She spun at the voice behind her, her eyes landing on Aragorn where he sat at one of the long benches with Legolas and Gimli, cradling the bowl of his pipe in his palm. He glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly before looking back to her father, "Eómer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now." Théoden sighed, rising to his feet as he paced into the hall, towards his daughter, "Eómer cannot help us. I know what is you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will _not_ lose another child." Théadain reached to touch her father's shoulder at his words as he turned to look at the wizard, "I will not risk open war."

"Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not." Aragorn's firm tone cut through the hall, making her hand on her father's shoulder tighten.

"We do not have enough men to withstand an open battle." She informed him, fixing the man with a steady, unwavering gaze. She would not buckle under her feelings now, in this moment she was Théadain the Marshal, not Théadain the woman.

"Nor do you have enough men to withstand a siege." He countered.

"When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan." The king breathed, his voice as firm as the Ranger's as he stared him down.

"Then what is the King's decision?" Gandalf's voice cut through the tension as Théadain released her hold on her father, stepping back to give him room.

"We make for Helm's Deep." He murmured, looking to his daughter for support, his grim expression softening at her nod.

"We can defend our people there better than in Edoras." She agreed, "And those that have escaped the Westfold may already be there." Turning, she caught Gamling's eye where he stood near the doors, "Begin informing the people, and have Baldan sent to me."

"Théadain..." Aragorn's voice behind her made her jaw clench. Could he not leave her be for a moment? She turned to watch as he stood, laying down his pipe as he strode to her side, "Théa you know walling yourself into a ravine will not make this threat disappear."

"You said it yourself, Aragorn, I do not have the men." She frowned, folding her arms across her chest as she looked up at him. He had changed since the funeral, his travelling clothes exchanged for a burgundy shirt under his dark jerkin, the sleeves rolled to his elbows to expose his muscular forearms. She bit her lip, dragging her gaze back up to his eyes, meeting his concerned gaze with a defiant one of her own; "Now that we have driven him from Edoras, Saruman will seek to crush us. I would rather defend our people in a fortress of stone than a city of wood."

"Théa-"

" _No_ , Aragorn." She hissed, her hands balling into fists at his insistent tone, "My father buried his _son_ today, I will _not_ let you drive him into open war. This is not the Rohan you remember; we do not have the strength to lead glorious battles against this force, not anymore. This is _my_ Rohan. I know my people, I know our weaknesses, and our strengths. I have seen with my own eyes what Saruman's armies will do to us. Helm's Deep is our best chance of withstanding this." She stepped back from him as her eyes burned defensively, unwilling to let his presence sway her resolve, "If you do not like it, no one is asking you to stand with us, you are free to leave."

"You know I could not leave you." He murmured, his tone softening as he looked down at her. She stared at him wordlessly, unable to summon some harsh word that would send him from her like she had done the night before.

"Théadain?"

The charged moment between them was interrupted by Baldan's voice as he appeared at her side, casting the tall, dark haired man that gazed so intensely at his captain a curious glance. "My Lady, you summoned me?"

"Yes." She breathed, finally able to break Aragorn's gaze as she turned to look at him, "We need to plan, we make for Helm's Deep at dawn." At his nod, she moved to draw her second in command over to one of the tables, casting a careful glance back at Aragorn. "Take some rest, the road will be long." She advised him softly, before moving to sit with Baldan and inform him of all that had occurred.

*

The road _was_ long.

Having overseen the evacuation of her city the morning after the decision was made, Théadain posted the riders of her company along the column of hundreds of citizens, ensuring they would be well protected, and making sure Baldan was never far from his heavily pregnant wife. For the three days it would take to reach Helm's Deep, they would be vulnerable, and so she herself stayed vigilant, spending the days riding up and down the column from head to rear, trying not to let her thoughts linger on the city they left behind. Her father had sworn they would return, and she had to believe they would.

That morning, Gandalf had left them with the hope of finding Éomer. She had been able to tell as he strode from the hall, flanked by Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, that the four were not happy with her father's decision to flee. Yet, whilst the wizard had left them, the elf, man and dwarf had remained.

Legolas and Gimli could see the clear tension between herself and Aragorn, she knew it. But she did not know what to tell them. Whilst they had travelled as a Fellowship, they had kept their affection for each other from the others, but now that she had severed that tie, all that seemed to remain was a cold formality between them, peppered with moments of frustration.

Such as that morning, when she had encountered him in the stables as she saddled Folca, and he had moved to soothe the distressed cries of Brego, her brother's horse. The dark bay had been mourning Théodred since they had returned to Edoras, but Théadain had not yet been able to summon her strength to turn him loose on the plains. She and her brother had used to joke when they rode together, astride both their stallions named after kings, that one day their decedents would ride out on horses named Théodred and Théadain. The memories were still too near for her to say goodbye to the horse. She had watched as he had spoken to Brego, once more marvelling at his command of the elvish tongue, just as her cousin also seemed to. She had turned away when she had seen the admiring look in Éowyn's eyes as she approached him, angry at the possessive jealousy that flared in her own chest.

She felt the same emotion each time she passed Éowyn in the column and saw her eyes settled upon the Ranger's back. She was not angry with her cousin, by any means, only with herself. She had drawn a line under her feelings for Aragorn, she had no right to be jealous of the way another woman looked at him. Besides, her cousin with all her trueborn beauty and grace would be a much more suitable match for the future king than a graceless bastard.

On the second day, she drew up Folca beside where Legolas walked, a little to the side of the column, keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding hills.

"Any sign of trouble?" She asked softly as she dismounted to lead Folca beside him.

"No." He smiled gently to her as they walked through the dense grass, "Though we should stay vigilant, Saruman may yet send an attack whilst we are vulnerable."

"He will have anticipated us leaving Edoras." She nodded with a sigh, looking Northward along the mountains in the direction of Helm's Deep. "But I know that if we had stayed, he would have destroyed the city."

"Your people trust in your decision." He reassured her softly, "They know you are trying to do right by them."

She nodded, letting her eyes wander to the column. Without realising it, she had settled her gaze on the face of the man that rode parallel to them, his own grey eyes set forward.

"What is it that has transpired between you and Aragorn?" Legolas murmured softly as he followed her gaze, "I was under the impression that things between you were..." He looked away, trying to find a tactful word, "Familiar?"

"Familiar?" She spluttered, looking at her friend in surprise and seeing his answering smile, "Legolas, there is nothing-"

"I see how he looks at you, and how you look at him." He interrupted her softly, "It was clear that day you left us on the plains, your affection for one another, but since we've arrived in Edoras..."

"I put an end to it, Legolas, I had to." She sighed, tightening her grip on Folca's reins as she walked, "I know I hurt him, and I feel wretched for it, but..." She shook her head, "He deserves more than me, I know that."

"And yet you still cannot tear your eyes away from him."

"Smothering my feelings has not been as simple as I anticipated." She admitted softly, "I still care for him, Legolas, so much that it hurts to look at him. It hurts to think I can never again share what I had with him, and it's all my own doing."

"And he cares for you." He murmured, seeing her glance at him sceptically, "Whatever it was you said to him, he carries it like a weight."

"I'm sure he resents me for it."

"No, I think he is simply trying to respect your decision." He smiled gently, "But I still see it, when you look away from him, he looks back to you."

At his words she cast a small glance back to the man, biting her lip as, true to Legolas' word, she met his gaze that had been fixed upon her.

"I will not tell you to go back to him, that is your choice." The elf murmured, "But it pains me to see two whom I care for so greatly torturing themselves like this. You do not have to make him your enemy, Théa, you will need each other to face this coming storm, you should make your peace." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you're still enjoying the story! Please do leave a comment if you are, it's so lovely to hear what you think! X


	37. Chapter 37

**_Chapter 37_ **

  
That evening, on the edge of a shallow lake, the people of Edoras made their camp. On a hill above them, Théadain drew up Folca beside where her father sat astride his own mount, Snowmane, looking out over his people.

"Our pace is faster than I thought we would be." She commented softly, "We should reach Helm's Deep by late afternoon tomorrow, by my reckoning."

"You have led them well." Théoden murmured, glancing at his daughter. He could not bear to think of the weight he had placed on her shoulders by succumbing to Saruman's power, and yet he could not be more proud of what she had achieved. In her every interaction she had she exuded kindness and strength, whether she paused with a reassuring word for the elders that travelled with them, a joke for the children, a gentle command for the men. Yet he could see there was something weighing on her, something beyond her mourning of her brother and her concern for her people. A thinly veiled pain that clouded her features when her eyes had settled on the man that had ridden by the king's side for much of the day.

He knew his daughter well enough to know that her gaze did not linger longingly on men. It never had. Even when he had suggested that she take a husband, she had always laughed him off, insisting that she was already wed to her company, that she had enough men to keep her busy. This one was different.

Even now, he could see her watching the tall Ranger as he worked tirelessly in the camp below them to help the people settle. Théoden could see he was a good man, despite their disagreement over his choice to flee Edoras, there was a strength, a nobility that he exuded. His admiration for the man had only grown when Théadain had softly informed him the night before that he had encountered the Ranger previously. The knowledge that the man had ridden with his own father and had met him as a boy explained the sense of familiarity that he had not been able to place. His daughter had chosen well, if this was indeed her choice. However, it was that pained expression she tried to hide that informed him that all was not well in her heart.

"He is a good man." He commented softly as he watched her eyes follow him, smiling as his words drew her from her trance and a light blush coloured her cheeks.

"He is." She agreed softly, "He has a good way with the people... It is a skill that will serve him well."

"If he choses to remain in Rohan?" Her father prompted carefully, watching her face as she smiled sadly and shook her head.

"No father, his path will lead him to Gondor." She informed him softly, remembering that in the frantic rush of the King's recovery, the burial of his son and now their flight from their home, she had failed to fully impart the story of her companion; "The man that rides with you is the Heir of Elendil. He is not destined to remain with us."

"I see..." The king breathed, looking down at Aragorn with renewed admiration as he diverted two riders to patrol the edge of the encampment. The reason for the sadness in her voice when she spoke of him was clearer now, she did not believe she could follow this man.

"You should rest, Théa, go and eat something." He prompted his daughter gently, nodding towards where Éowyn was bent over a pot, earning a laugh as the melancholy furrow in her brow eased.

"You mean go and rescue whatever my dear cousin is cooking?" She grinned, gathering Folca's reins up once more, "As you wish, my king."

*

As it transpired, Théadain did not unsaddle Folca in time to save Éowyn's first few victims. Indeed, it was as the younger woman backed away from Aragorn that she finally managed to catch her arm.

"Éowyn." She smiled lightly, casting a questioning look over her shoulder at Aragorn as he valiantly battled with her cousin's stew; "May I speak with you, cousin?" She smiled encouragingly as she drew her away from the man, biting her lip to contain her smile as she watched him move to tip the contents of his bowl onto the grass as the blonde woman turned away.

"Are you hungry, Théa?" Éowyn smiled as the two women walked back to the fire she had been cooking over, watching as Théadain pried the pot from her hands and hung it back over the flame.

"I am starving." She laughed, moving to cup her cousin's porcelain cheeks in her hands fondly, "But my dear Éowyn, with all the love in the world, I must tell you that I will not be eating your stew."

"I didn't think it was very good." The blonde sighed, earning a fond laugh from the redhead.

"It just needs some adjustments, come." She smiled, kneeling by the fire and rooting through the rations Éowyn had gathered, "You remember the Halfling I told you I travelled with, Sam?" She smiled as she selected a few untouched herbs, "He taught me a thing or two."

Together they bent over the pot, laughing as Théadain scooped out the bitter root that Éowyn had unwittingly added to the broth, the older cousin making the younger shriek as she flicked it at her playfully. As the sun sank behind the hills, Théa finally began to feel that easy companionship and closeness she had always shared with Éowyn, no longer marred by the time that she had spent away, or their grief at Théodred's passing. Their fear at being driven from their home and made refugees within their own land was held at bay, for the moment.

"There." Théadain smiled, moving to taste the broth after she had let it simmer for a while and humming contentedly. It was no great feast, but it was hearty and savoury, instead of bitter. Samwise would have been proud of her. "Now, take some to the king." She smiled gently, standing as she filled two bowls of her own, "I think I need to go and make a peace offering." She bit her lip as she cast her eyes over to where Aragorn sat, lighting his pipe as he leaned against a rock. Around them, the camp had quietened as the night drew in, the people weary after their long walk.

"Did you know about his age? His lineage?" Éowyn asked, hesitating on her path to the king's tent as she saw Théadain's gaze settle on the man she had carefully positioned herself near throughout the day.

"I did." She nodded, casting a small, unreadable glance Éowyn's way.

"You are close, then?" The blonde murmured, her tone taking on a defensive note that at first made Théadain bristle jealously, before forcing herself to remember that she held no claim over Aragorn.

"He is a dear friend." She sighed softly as she prepared two bowls, choosing her words carefully, "Though in recent days I seemed to forget that."

Eowyn nodded before turning to deliver her bowl to Théoden, seemingly satisfied by her cousin's answer. Théadain puffed out a soft breath, shaking her head as she glanced back to Aragorn. He _wasn't_ hers. She had very forcibly seen to that. She had made her bed, now she must lie in it. If Éowyn wished to be close to him, and he to her, she could not stand in their way.

She could, however, let herself be his friend, if he was willing to accept her friendship.

Carefully, she carried the bowls over, offering Aragorn a small smile as she sank to the ground beside him, her heart hammering in her chest at the thought of confronting her behaviour towards him. Offering him a bowl, she bit her lip.

"For all the talents and beauty of the White Lady of Rohan, cooking is not one of them." She smiled softly as he took the bowl with a small smile, "Sorry I didn't save you from her first attempt."

Silently, he watched her as she began eating, waiting with bated breath for her to draw away from him once more, or to mutter some defiant word, but she stayed. Quietly, she stirred her spoon through her stew, casting him what he interpreted as a shy glance. She had never been shy with him before.

"I miss you." She whispered softly, looking down at where she had folded her legs beneath her; "I miss speaking with you, I miss our friendship." She glanced at him as he listened to her admission, not daring to meet her eyes just yet, "And I know I cannot excuse what I said to you, or how I hurt you. In fact, I know I must stand by what I said, for both our sakes, but I still miss you, Aragorn."

Carefully, he looked up to meet her eyes, seeing the vulnerability that she offered him there, taking a moment to carefully consider his words before he spoke. "It is your choice, Théadain." He murmured softly, "You know what I feel for you, and you know I will not disrespect your wish to not follow that path." He sighed and looked away, "Though, we have struggled with not giving in to our desires before, if you think we can maintain our friendship without giving in, I will attempt to. In truth, have never known you without being drawn to you, but I will try."

She nodded silently, letting his honest words settle on her as she finished her last mouthful of stew, chewing thoughtfully. "I would like to try." She whispered after swallowing, setting her empty bowl at her feet, "We can be careful, and it will get easier."

"I hope it will." He smiled gently at her, that tender smile that sent her heart racing, but now she could not let it. She had purposefully withheld the fact that she still harboured equally strong feelings for him. It would be easier for him to believe that she only cared for him as a friend.

"Thank you, Aragorn." She whispered softly, shuffling a little closer to lean on the rock with him, watching as he set aside his bowl and lifted his pipe, taking a deep draw from the stem. "Can I try?" She asked curiously, watching the curl of smoke drift from his lips as he turned to smile at her, offering her the pipe.

She had smoked before but had always found the pipe leaf grown in Rohan to be too acrid for her tastes. The scent that followed Aragorn however was milder, more subtle. Setting the mouthpiece between her lips she inhaled, humming softly as she drew back to blow her lungful of smoke up towards the night sky, not seeing the way her companion watched her lips carefully.

They sat like that long into the night, talking and laughing softly as they exchanged stories, their heads drawing close together as they passed the pipe between their lips. As Aragorn recounted his previous time in Rohan, his low, gentle tones washing over her, she nestled into his side, letting him draw her close to his warm body with an arm around her shoulders.

He had watched her fighting to stay awake and listen as her eyes grew heavy, having quietly refused another draw from the pipe some time ago, content to sit with her head on his shoulder. He continued speaking though, until her breathing evened and her eyes had long since fluttered shut.

He was a fool, he thought, to let himself hold her so close, but it made no difference. He was certain now, as he held her to his side, that he was in love with the young woman nestled in his arms. He could not, and would not tell her, not now that she had asked only for his friendship. If that was all he could share with her, he would gladly take it.

Sighing softly at his own thoughts, he tipped the ash from his pipe and settled back against the rock, holding Théadain close as she slept peacefully. Carefully, he leaned down to lay a soft kiss in her fiery hair, breathing in her familiar, comforting scent.

" _Le melin_." Aragorn whispered softly, before laying his head back against the rock and closing his eyes, waiting for sleep to claim him.

*

Théadain had risen before the sun, the morning after falling asleep in Aragorn's arms. She had opened her eyes with a soft groan, her body stiff after remaining curled against his throughout the night. She shouldn't have allowed herself that indulgence, she knew. They had agreed to take care, to not risk slipping back into the intimacy she so feared - sleeping curled in his embrace was far from treading cautiously.

Unfolding herself carefully so as not to wake him, she paused only to admire his peaceful expression as he slept before she had moved down to the lake to wash the last remains of sleep from her eyes and purge her lungs of the scent of his skin, resolving to be more mindful of her actions around the Heir of Elendil from this point. 

From the moment the sun peeked over the hills that surrounded them, the camp became a flurry of activity, and she fell into the easy routine of setting patrols and arranging the formation of the column of riders and walkers. Once she had saddled Folca, she was able to join them, overseeing the packing away of their encampment before the people set off.

As the last few carts of supplies rolled over the hill, she caught sight of one that appeared to be stuck a little further behind. Quickly she rode over, dismounting and giving the farmer that was trying to coax his horse to pull harder a reassuring smile. "Can I offer you a push?"

"Another would be a blessing, m'lady." The man puffed, gesturing to where Aragorn crouched by the wheel, appearing to tug at it.

"Is it broken?" She murmured as she crouched at his side, seeing him shake his head.

"Caught on a rope." He sighed, continuing to try to tug it free.

"Here." She unsheathed Théodred's dagger from her belt and offered him the hilt, "Cut it, we don't have time to linger."

"Lady Théadain?"

The call from Háma drew her to her feet once more and she turned, hurrying to mount Folca so she could go to answer his question about patrols as the man helped his son, Háleth onto his own horse.

Soon she was riding to the head of the column once again with Háma, checking over her shoulder once to ensure the farmer Aragorn had helped was following before urging Folca on, her dagger forgotten.

She took little time to stop and speak with her companions that afternoon as they pressed on. As the plains gave way to rolling hills, she could not see the entire column at any given time, and so she constantly rode up and down its length, growing uneasy as the hills closed in around them. Yet they were close, another hour and they would be able to see the fortress.

It was as she was riding back to the head of the column at an easy canter, she heard the first panicked squeal of the horse.

Beneath her she felt Folca balk at the sound, and she drew him up, frantically looking to see where the sound had come from. Then she heard it, the cry of a man up ahead. With an urgent sound, she nudged Folca on, galloping hard to where she had seen the first riders and Legolas disappear over a hill to scout ahead, seeing Aragorn already running ahead of her.

She met her father at the head of the column just as Aragorn turned to sprint down the hill.

"Wargs! We're under attack!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear...
> 
> Thank you for reading and thank you to anyone who has left a comment so far, it's so wonderful to hear what you think of the story! We've almost reached 1k hits which is so exciting, thank you again for all of your support! X


	38. Chapter 38

**_Chapter 38_ **

  
"Wargs! We're under attack!" Aragorn yelled frantically to her as he ran to find Hasufel.

Théadain felt her blood run cold at his words. She had been afraid of an attack, perhaps by orcs or at worst, Uruk-Hai. Wargs were another terror altogether.

Around her, she heard her people begin to scream and panic, frantically searching for an escape. Instinctively, she wheeled Folca around, calling out for her riders, summoning her company to her.

" _Rohirrim_!" She cried, seeing those she had scattered around the column respond to her call, "All riders to the head of the column, spears and swords drawn!" Her voice rang out clear over the sounds of the cries of fear, but behind her she could already hear the yelping and barking of their foes.

"Éowyn!" She called as she watched her cousin turn from speaking with her father, "You have your sword?"

"The king has commanded me to lead them away from the fight." The blonde woman called bitterly, gesturing to where her sword was sheathed on her saddle.

"Ride with your sword drawn, you are the column's only defence." She breathed, reaching to sweep her own sword from its sheath, "If one slips through our defences, you are their protection, Éowyn." She knew her cousin had the heart of a warrior, and skill with a blade, but in this moment, their people needed her to lead them.

She pulled Folca to turn, catching Aragorn's eye as he hauled himself into Hasufel's saddle, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring nod as she urged her horse on, over the crest of the hill that separated her from battle, leading the riders that surged to her side.

The sight that met her eyes made her stomach threaten to empty its contents, not the near fifty wargs and riders that bore down on them, but the sight of the fallen rider and horse that lay dead near where Legolas stood drawing back his bowstring to fire upon their enemies. She choked on her cry of rage as she recognised the still form of Háma lying in the grass, gripping her sword tighter as she spurred Folca on towards her snarling enemy.

They clashed in a flurry of fur and steel, screeches and battle cries ringing out through the air as both cavalries met. Spears adorned with the banners of Rohan were thrown, riders were knocked from their horses by the sheer brute force of their foes. Amidst the fray, Théadain fought for her life.

This was why she feared wargs above all other attacks that could have befallen them. As soon as she cut down a rider, the beast beneath the orc would turn on her. Whilst the Rohirrim could boast a greater number of riders, their mounts left them disadvantaged. Around her the cries of men rang in her ears as they fought, desperately trying to bring down the wolf-like creatures that the orcs rode.

As she drew up Folca with one hand to survey her surroundings, her sword dripping black blood as she held it aloft, her eyes locked on a riderless warg that prowled the perimeter of the fight. She witnessed the moment it set its sights on her, a cry of defiance leaving her lips as she rode hard towards it. As it bounded towards her, muscular legs preparing to leap, she ducked low in her saddle, thrusting her sword up to meet its thick neck as the creature lunged at her, a growl of satisfaction following her cry as she saw it fall to the ground behind her.

"Théadain!" The call at her side made her turn just in time to catch the spear Baldan tossed to her as he rode past, "On your left." He nodded to the warg that had locked its jaws around the neck of a fallen horse, distracted by its kill as its rider tried to tug it back to the fray. With a smirk, she drew back her arm to throw the spear directly into the creature, grinning as it fell in such a way that the rider was crushed beneath its bulk. She turned to thank Baldan but he was already gone, cutting his way through another foe.

She followed him, putting her sword to work as she cleaved an orcs head from its shoulders in passing. As she circled Folca to search for her next target, she realised breathlessly that there were none.

The chaos of the battlefield had quietened as her riders chased away the last of the wargs, though she realised with a grimace of numb regret that the field was littered with more than just the bodies of their enemies. The green cloaks of fallen riders stained the earth, their number illustrating the price they had paid for victory. This time, it had been high.

"Théadain!" A sigh of relief left her at the sound of her Father's voice, and she rode to his side quickly; "You're not hurt?"

"No, nothing worth mentioning." She sighed, wiping her sword on her saddlecloth and sheathing it as she cast her eye over the field, picking out the forms of Baldan and a few of her other riders as they dismounted. She swung herself from her saddle to join them as they began to search for survivors, following the familiar, grim routine that followed the aftermath of a fight. Among the men walking she also counted Gamling, clasping his shoulder firmly as she passed him, "Háma?" She asked softly, already knowing the answer before he shook his head sadly.

"Fallen." He confirmed in a hitching breath, clasping Théadain's shoulder in return as he saw the dismay shine clear in her eyes.

"I will tell Háleth." She promised gently, knowing it would pain Gamling to inform his close friend's son of his death. It was not a burden he needed to carry.

Moving on, she breathed a low sigh of relief as her eyes picked out Legolas and Gimli searching among the bodies. She had not doubted them for a moment, her steadfast and capable companions, but it was reassuring to see them unmarred by injury.

"Aragorn?"

She turned at Legolas' call, watching as he cast his keen eye over the field, a creeping sense of unease laying its hand upon her shoulder. As Gimli repeated the call more urgently, she felt her heart falter in her chest.

She couldn't see him.

"Aragorn?" Her own voice joined the call desperately as she jogged to the dwarf's side, looking out to the edge of the gorge that their battlefield bordered, "Where is he?"

A choked, cruel laugh drew her gaze, and she followed Legolas to crouch by the orc that had wheezed the sound, clutching at a wound in its chest.

"Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing." Gimli growled to the creature, brandishing his axe fiercely as Théadain stared down at the orc, her eyes landing on the familiar dagger protruding from its chest. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to where it had been sheathed at her belt only that morning, before she had handed it to Aragorn, her throat suddenly feeling as though it had been seized by a tightening rope.

"He's dead."

The orc's breathless snarl made her freeze, her breath catching in her throat as she looked down in disbelief. It felt as though the world had simultaneously been wrenched away from under her feet and a cold hand had punched her firmly in the stomach. She was falling, breathlessly spiralling down with nothing to cling to.

"No..."

"He took a little tumble off the cliff." The creature sneered as her wild, frantic eyes darted to the edge of the gorge.

"No!" She cried, dashing to the edge of the stone as Legolas moved to shake the orc, but she neither heard nor saw any of it. "No, no Aragorn, _no_!" She screamed for him, raw and desperate as she fell to her knees at the cliff edge, her eyes locked upon the rushing water tens of feet below. Her hands gripped the stone beneath her as a sob tore from her throat, her drowning mind scrambling to process the height of the fall, the depth of the water.

"Théadain..." Her father's hands were on her shoulders, pulling her to her feet as she struggled free of his grip, her hands moving to unfasten her cloak.

"Let me go- he could be alive, he could-" She sobbed as the king held her firmly, tugging her back from the edge that he momentarily believed his daughter was about to throw herself from in pursuit of the man.

"He's _gone_ , Théadain. No man could survive that fall." He breathed firmly, cupping his daughter's cheeks as a heart-breaking cry left her lips.

"No, you have to let me _try-_ If it was me he wouldn't leave me- He's saved me so many times father, let me try!" She pleaded, clutching at his sleeves as he held her trembling form upright.

"Do not throw your life away in pursuit of a dead man!"

"Then let me ride downstream, let me _find_ him!"

"And do what? Pull a battered corpse from a river?" He demanded, knowing his words were harsh, but the frantic anguish painted across his daughter's face frightened him. He _had_ to get through to her. "Théadain leave him, he would not want you to pursue him." He reasoned, seeing her shaking her head, "Théadain, that is an _order._ "

At his firm words her struggles ceased, her shoulders slumping as her father spoke to her not as his daughter, but as his Marshal. "I need your strength now, Théa, our people need you."

Slowly, she nodded, choking back her tears as she looked up into the pitying eyes of her father, forcing down the screams of regret and anguish that fought to escape her lips. Silently, he released her shoulders, turning to Gamling as he approached them as Théadain's eyes drifted back to the river.

"Get the wounded on horses. The wolves of Isengard will return." Her father ordered, turning back to Théadain as she stared with hollow eyes down at the rushing water. "Leave the dead."

She had not felt herself shaking until Legolas' arm curled around her shoulders, drawing her to his side as the elf followed her gaze.

"He can't be gone..." She whispered brokenly, her mind refusing to comprehend it, "He can't..."

"We have to go, Théa..." Legolas' equally fractured voice drew her gaze from the water as he gently pulled her away, his face betraying the shock he was so desperately trying to overcome as he slowly pressed Théodred's dagger into her hands.

None of them could have imagined this would happen. Aragorn was strong, capable, the thought of him falling in battle where others had survived was incomprehensible.

She could not recall how she found herself in Folca's saddle once more, her heart and mind numb as they refused to let her process the loss. She couldn't accept it, not in the way she had accepted the loss of Boromir and Théodred, for there was no body she could clutch in her arms, no still face she could look into and know that he had left her. It felt as though she moved through a thick fog as she followed the other riders over the hills, her body simply following the familiar motions as her eyes fixed unseeingly on a distant point.

He was gone. Only hours ago, she had woken in his arms and now he was _gone_.

If she had known, if she had imagined that this could have happened, what could she have done? What could she have _told_ him?

She couldn't bear to think on that, the answer was too painful, for she knew now what words she longed to speak to him, words she had not dared utter before, out of fear that exactly _this_ would happen. That he would be taken from her, and she would be left alone.

*

Théadain could not bring herself to feel a sense of relief as the fortress of Helm's Deep came into sight, nor could she feel it as they passed beneath the gates of the Hornburg in a clattering of hooves.

"Make way for the king!"

As the call rang out, bouncing off the solid rock walls, she could not help but be astounded at the sheer amount of people crammed into the fortress. She had been correct in assuming that the refugees of the Westfold would come here, they lined the pathways, mingled with those that had fled Edoras. She heard her father's voice over the commotion caused by their arrival but could not pick out the words as she dismounted, handing Folca's reins to a guard as she heard Gimli softly informing someone of their loss.

A gentle hand on her arm broke her unblinking focus on the stone wall that surrounded them, and she turned to meet the glistening eyes of her cousin, "Théadain..."

"Éowyn..." She choked softly, her hands reaching for the support of the other woman. She could not cry, she would not, but still she let her cousin pull her into her arms, embracing her tightly. Éowyn's admiration for Aragorn had been clear, and now she felt the grief rolling off the younger woman in waves as she whispered her regret at his loss. Théadain had to pull away at that, shaking her head as she stepped away, moving as though she were in a trance.

She had to put thoughts of him out of her head now, she had to overcome this. Her people needed her.

"Baldan..." She breathed softly, turning to find her rider at her side.

"My Lady, you should take some rest." He tried to coax, seeing that she was still deep in her shock by the way her eyes wandered aimlessly over the crowd, as if she was searching for the form of the Ranger. He had never seen her like this. His leader was always alert, ready, and now she seemed a shell of herself.

"No..." She whispered in response to his request, shaking her head slowly, "I... I have to... Háma's son, I have to tell him..." She murmured, remembering her promise to Gamling.

"I will tell Háleth, Théadain. Do not force yourself to endure more." Her friend reassured her, clasping her shoulders, "If you must do something, help settle the people."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, feeling herself nod in response to his words. She had to do something; she knew that. If she allowed herself to rest, she feared she would drown in this despair.

She felt like she was adrift in a boat on a wide ocean, her sails torn, her life at the mercy of the waves.

Or perhaps she was drowning in the churning waters of a rushing river, her body and mind tossed and turned as she tried to process the fact that he was gone, and that her heart would never heal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, that one hurt.
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying reading (despite our poor heroine being put through absolute hell, sorry!)  
> Thank you to everyone who has helped this story get past our first 1k hits, how exciting! X


	39. Chapter 39

_**Chapter 39** _

  
Those who loved and cared for the Third Marshall of Rohan could only watch helplessly as she threw herself into her work, falling back on the familiar instinct to serve her people and direct her men.

Though few knew the true extent of what the fallen Ranger had meant to her, they could feel the heartbreak and shock rolling off her in tangible waves. It was as if her spirit had gone with him over the edge of that cliff.

Those that understood tried to coax her to rest as night began to fall over the fortress, Legolas, Gimli, Baldan, even her father all tried to draw her into the Hornburg keep where she herself had overseen the setup of rough sleeping areas for the men. Yet each time she quietly refused, insisting that there was more to be done.

Although, around her, the people of Rohan who could not fight to defend their fortress were beginning to settle for the night where they sat on the pathways, those that she had not already helped into the Glittering Caves beneath the fortress. She could guide them in tomorrow, she thought, they were weary and should rest whilst they can. It had grown too dark for her to continue patrolling the walls, searching for advantageous points she could place archers when Saruman's inevitable attack came, so her feet carried her to the armoury.

It was quiet in the room, torchlight danced on the walls and reflected off the metal objects that scattered the wooden tables and benches. Battle would come, she was certain of it, and they would need to arm those that did not carry their own weapons. And so she busied herself, laying out the blunted swords she found leaning against the walls and settling on a bench at a table to sharpen them.

Refusing to acknowledge any of her own thoughts, she lost herself in the rhythm of working her whetstone over the blades, even as her eyes began to grow heavy. Yet, as the night crawled on, at some point she must have allowed herself to lay her head in her arms on the table, granting herself a small moment of rest in the space between laying down one sword and reaching for another.

She dreamt of him, that night. Of the sound of a river washing past her as she stood on the bank, calling his name. She saw him, floating on his back in the water, carried past her by the current as she cried out for him. Then she was throwing her body into the rushing water, plunging herself into the icy depths as she struggled to reach him. Her clothes weighed her down, threatened to drag her under as she swam after him, stretching out her hand as the river seemed to whisk him away, always just out of reach. She screamed his name, calling for him desperately as she fought against the water, her exhausted body unable to follow him any longer as the current dragged her under.

With a frightened gasp of his name, she woke, her fingertips digging into the worn wood of the table beneath her as she sat up, rubbing at her eyes to chase away the dream. The torches in the armoury had burned out around her, leaving her in the grey semi-darkness that came just before the dawn.

"Aragorn..." She whispered, running her hands through her hair; "I don't think I can do this without you..."

Her words seemed to hang heavy in the still air of the room, unheard and unanswered. She could imagine what he might say if he heard them, how he might cradle her face in his hands, soothing his calloused thumb over her cheek as he assured her that she _could_ go on. That she was strong enough.

With a mournful sigh she pushed herself up from the table, refusing to let herself linger on him, not now. She let her feet carry her along the darkened passageways of the fortress to climb the steps to the top of the Deeping Wall. The thick, impenetrable stone had stood for hundreds of years, protecting the people of Rohan when they sought shelter within. She had to believe it would protect them now, from whatever was coming.

Saruman was no fool, whilst he knew Rohan was weak, he would not send a meagre force to overwhelm them. They had to be ready for whatever doom the wizard would rain down upon them.

Biting her lip, she leaned her forearms against the top of the wall, lacing her fingers together as she tried to picture the ravine that stretched before her filled with Uruk-Hai. Well, not _filled_ , such a number would be impossible, she mused idly.

"Théadain?" The soft voice behind her pulled her from her battle plans, and she offered Éowyn a weak smile as her cousin moved to lean beside her.

"Could you not sleep, Éowyn?"

"I managed little, and you?"

"A little." She echoed, turning her eyes back to the land that surrounded them, "My dreams offered me no rest though. As much as I try not to think of him, he is waiting when I close my eyes."

Éowyn watched her cousin cautiously as she spoke, seeing how carefully she had composed her face, as if she was using all her will not to appear broken by her loss. This was not how she had mourned Théodred, this was different. It was as though she simply refused to acknowledge the death of her companion, for if she did, the news would break her.

She had watched them together in the camp the night before; as she had passed them by, she had envied the easy smiles her cousin drew from the man as they sat side by side, and the clear affection that shone in his eyes when he had looked at her. Éowyn had understood then, that as much as she admired the man and longed to be closer to him, his heart lay elsewhere.

"You loved him, didn't you?"

Théadain turned in alarm at her cousin's question, meeting the steady gaze of the younger woman. "I... Éowyn..." She bit her lip, shaking her head as she turned to look out over the ravine again, seeing that the sun was beginning to rise; "I cannot admit to that. Not now." She whispered brokenly, "Love will not bring him back from the dead."

"Will you not admit it to yourself?" Éowyn prompted gently, laying her hand on her cousin's arm.

"No... Not yet anyway." She breathed softly, "I should have told him, Éowyn, but I don't think I knew what I felt until it was too late. If I admit to it now, I fear it will break me." She swallowed thickly and shook her head, "I swore I could not care for him because I was frightened of losing him... And now look at what has become of us." She could have laughed at the cruel twist of fate as she squeezed her fingers together tightly, "I thought if I didn't give in to these feelings, if I kept my distance, I could keep him safe."

"Théa, you cannot believe his death was your doing..."

"Perhaps part of me does." She whispered, "The men around me die and I am left to carry on. I thought drawing away from him would prevent that. I saw the way you looked at him and I thought you would be a more worthy match..."

"I... I did admire him." Éowyn admitted softly, withdrawing her hand in the fear her cousin would be angry with her.

"I do not blame you." Théadain reassured her with a small smile, "He is- was... He was everything an admirable man should be. He was noble, kind, strong... _Devastatingly_ handsome..." She laughed softly as she imagined how he would react to her description of him, "I cannot blame you for seeing it too."

"Though his eyes only ever followed you." Éowyn smiled softly as she watched her cousin's features soften at the memory of the man.

"So I am told." She sighed sadly, "I was a fool, Éowyn... He was the only man I have ever met who truly _saw_ me for who I am... And now we stand on the eve of battle and I cannot mourn him, neither for myself nor for the World of Men that has lost their last hope for a true king, for if I do... I will not have the strength to fight. He will have to wait until either Rohan lies safe, or I lie dead on this wall."

"We will endure. You will endure." Her cousin whispered softly, moving to wrap her arms around her companion's waist, holding her tightly and laying her head on her shoulder as the sounds of the fortress slowly coming to life rose up from below them.

When it became clear she would be needed again soon, Théadain carefully withdrew from Éowyn's hold, "Thank you... I think I needed to speak of him." She murmured gently, squeezing her cousin's shoulder before she moved to descend from the wall.

Moving back to the Hornburg, she caught sight of Legolas and Gimli sitting together on the steps outside, each lost to their thoughts. They had both lost a dear friend, and for a moment guilt gripped her as she saw she had neglected them as she had walled herself away to protect her heart.

"My friends." She murmured softly, moving to sit between them on the steps and reaching both of her hands to take one of theirs, "Forgive me, there has been much to prepare and little time to do it in."

"You've done well, lass." Gimli nodded fondly, squeezing her hand, "Didn't think you'd be up for much yesterday."

"Neither did I." She sighed, "But if I work I cannot linger on my thoughts."

"Then we should not hold you back." Legolas smiled in understanding down at her as she nodded.

"I need you to help me, if you can bear it?" She asked quietly, her heart warming at the encouraging nod she received from the elf.

"Anything for you, lass." Gimli nodded, straightening as she squeezed their hands gratefully.

"We three are the only ones in this fortress that have fought Saruman's Uruk-hai in any vast number." She began, looking between them, "We know their strengths, their weaknesses. At Amon Hen I estimate he sent near three hundred - five warriors were able to hold them off then. He will not make that mistake twice." She informed them softly, "There are perhaps two hundred soldiers in this fortress, three hundred if we arm any able-bodied men. We should anticipate Saruman sending a force maybe two, three thousand strong." She could not help but recoil internally at the thought of the number, "If they breach the wall, the men have to be ready to fight."

"We can instruct them, prepare them." Legolas murmured, nodding as he listened to her words, understanding why her people valued her as a leader.

"They will never have seen a battle like this." She braced them, "This will be the hour of Rohan's greatest need, they _have_ to be ready."

*

With her friends sent to prepare her men, Théadain busied herself with helping Éowyn settle the people in the caves. She spoke softly with each family, expressing her regret as she diverted the more able bodied of the menfolk towards the armoury. She refused to ask those who she would have considered too young to fight, or too old, but as she moved to the doors of the caves to speak to Éowyn, she was approached by a boy.

"My Lady?" She turned as he bowed his head to her, her expression saddening as she recognised the face of the fallen door guard's son.

"Háleth, son of Háma." She smiled gently, laying her hand on his shoulder, "Have you found a place in the caves?"

"No my lady, I..." He looked down at the sheathed sword he clasped in his hands. Gamling must have retrieved his father's weapon for the boy; "I want to fight." He said firmly, even as his eyes shone with veiled grief, "I want to stand with you."

"Háleth..." She breathed regretfully, looking him up and down. He could be no older than sixteen, another year or two and she would gladly have accepted him as a rider in her company, but he was too young to face this battle; "Your father would not have wanted you to take such a risk."

"Please." He begged her softly, "I am not frightened, I want to avenge my father."

"You _should_ be frightened, Háleth. I am terrified of what is to come." She admitted, "There is no bravery without fear."

"Then I am frightened of not doing my part." He whispered firmly, "Of letting my father die for nothing."

She bit her lip as she looked down at him, seeing the strong features of his father in his young face. With a reluctant sigh, she nodded. Why shouldn't the boy be allowed to protect his people?

"Alright, get to the armoury, find Baldan." She informed him, smiling softly at the way his shoulders straightened at her words, "He will make sure you are equipped, but Háleth, you follow my orders, you understand? You stand where I tell you, and if I ask you to pull back, to hide, you do so."

"I understand, thank you My Lady." He breathed, bowing his head before turning to dash to the armoury.

"Was that wise?" Éowyn asked her cousin softly as the Third Marshal watched her newest recruit run off, having overheard their exchange.

"Perhaps not, but I understand his reasons." She sighed, "I am almost looking forward to avenging those Saruman has taken from me."

"As am I."

She turned to smile sadly at her cousin, knowing she yearned to fight. She had trained with Théadain for a time, not as extensively, but she still showed promise. This, however, would not be the fight to first test her skills. "Take it up with my father." She murmured, biting her lip as she looked around the entrance to the caves; "Has all of the food been moved to the stores?"

"All but one cart." She nodded, "It got stuck in the mud below the causeway, we couldn't pull it out."

"We'll need all of the food we can, especially if the siege lasts." Théa frowned, running one hand through her hair, glad to have another task fall into her hands that would keep her from focusing upon the raw, ever-present ache in her chest; "Stay here, get the last of the people settled, I'll fetch the cart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, don't forget to leave a comment if you're enjoying the story! X


	40. Chapter 40

_**Chapter 40** _

  
Under the late afternoon sun, Théadain fastened Folca to the harness of the cart, throwing her coat over the sacks of vegetables as she rolled up her shirtsleeves and set her roiling mind to the task at hand. The wooden wheels were indeed sunk in the mud, and the sturdy little pony that had pulled it hadn't had the strength to tug it free of the sucking earth some hundred metres from the stone causeway, churned up by the footfalls of the people passing over it.

"Come on Folca." She coaxed, hoping the stallion would have enough power in his strong legs to free the cart, "Don't look at me like that, I know you're a big brave warhorse but this needs doing." She muttered as he blew what sounded like an exasperated sigh. Moving to the back of the cart, she dug her heels into the soft earth and grunted softly as she tried to push it free.

As she groaned and pushed, rocking the wheels in an attempt to move them as her boots became caked in mud, her frustration built, bubbling up inside her and creating such an irrational sense of hopelessness that she growled at herself, shoving hard at the cart and hissing in pain at the splinter that lodged in her palm.

Evidently, the tiny shard of wood was enough to crumble the wall she had built to keep her emotions in check, and as she looked down at her hands a helpless sob slipped from her lips. As the weight of her supressed grief and fear crashed down on her shoulders, she leant back against the cart, letting herself weep openly into her hands. She knew she shouldn't allow herself to indulge in this weakness, but she could not stop it any more than she could turn back the flow of a river. He was gone, and it hurt more than any wound she had ever felt.

And so she let herself cry for Aragorn for the first time since she had stood on that cliff edge, until she ran out of tears and all she could manage were a few choked, dry sobs.

Trembling, she wiped at her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply, knowing she couldn't linger out here. Whether it came today, or in weeks, an attack would come. She had to be ready, and so she let her rational Marshal's mind take hold once more.

The cart wouldn't budge, she would have to call men down to carry the supplies in by foot. So she moved to unfasten Folca from the harness, stroking his muzzle affectionately as she moved to lead him away towards the causeway.

"Come on..." She coaxed, tugging at his halter gently as he hesitated, frowning as he didn't respond and planted his feet firmly in the mud, jerking his head to look at something behind them. "What is it?" She breathed, fearing they had run out of time, and Saruman's forces were arriving.

Her brow furrowed at the sight of the lone mount approaching the fortress, the dark bay horse's rider slumped wearily upon its back. For a moment she thought it was a straggling refugee from the Westfold, but as the horse drew nearer she suddenly feared she was seeing things, that her grieving mind had conjured this image to comfort her. She _knew_ the man sat astride the horse, every angle of his face, every scar that marred his knuckles she knew, had committed to memory... It would not have been difficult for her mind to create his image before her.

And yet he was no illusion, she could not have imagined his battered appearance, nor the expression of shocked relief as he lifted his head and his weary, grey eyes met hers.

"Aragorn?" She breathed in disbelief, dropping Folca's rein as she was tugged forward – whether by her feet or the sheer force of her soul reaching out for him, she did not know – running frantically to cover the stretch of ground between them, her heart hammering in her chest. " _Aragorn!"_ She cried, fresh tears clouding her vision as he lowered himself from the horse's back with a wince of pain.

"Théa..." He gasped her name as he caught her in his arms, almost bowled over by the force of her need to reach him, to touch him and prove to herself that he was real, he was here with her and _alive_. He clutched her to his body with a choked sound of relief, burying his face in her hair as she clung to him, sobbing his name into his chest as she shook.

"Aragorn- Y-you're _here..._ You're alive..." She whimpered, looking up and cautiously touching her fingers to his cheek, as if she was afraid he would vanish at her touch. It was as he leaned into her palm, nodding slowly at her words that she could see how truly awful he looked, his clothes were torn and slightly damp under her hands, an angry gash on his exposed shoulder staining his coat with blood, his hands too were slick with blood, even his face was streaked with grime and the odd scrape. Whatever he had been through, whatever he had overcome to find his way back to her, it had nearly broken him.

"Aragorn..." She whispered his name again in concern as she looked him over, hearing him hush her and gently catch her hands to cease her attempts to examine him, drawing her close so he could rest his forehead against hers.

Closing his eyes, he simply drank in her presence. Her warm breath on his face, the scent of her hair, her trembling fingers that carefully curled around his - all things he had feared he would never experience again. 

He could grant himself this moment, he thought as he held her, one moment of rest before pushing on.

"I thought I'd lost you..." She breathed shakily as her mind tried to keep pace with the realisation that he was standing before her.

"No..." He breathed reassuringly, wishing he could say more, explain all that had happened, but he was choked by exhaustion and the sheer relief of seeing her again, knowing she had survived the warg attack and he wasn't too late to warn her of the oncoming force.

"We should get inside, you need to rest..."

"Not yet..." He shook his head, drawing back, "They're coming, Théa, I must speak with your father."

As swiftly as relief had gripped her at his appearance, dread quickly came to overpower it.

"Here..." She reluctantly released him to catch the halter of his horse, looking at the animal in confusion as she recognised Brego, her brother's mount, "He found you..." She breathed in awe as Aragorn hauled himself onto the animal's back once more, shaking her head as she remembered their urgency; "Go- I'll follow."

He nodded and spurred Brego on into a canter, leaving her to whistle to Folca and vault lightly onto her horse's back to follow him moments later, her hands shaking with the shock of so much emotion hitting her at once.

He was alive. Aragorn was alive. Her heart sang as the realisation continued to echo through her mind, even as she and Folca clattered through the open gates of the Hornburg, passing through the crowds that had gathered at the appearance of the man all had thought dead.

She dismounted from Folca in time to see him withdrawing from Gimli's embrace, calling for a guard to take both of their horses to the stables within the keep, then instructing another to gather men to bring in the last of the supplies.

"Then begin reinforcing the gates, once they are sealed none leave, and none enter." She ordered rapidly, turning to follow the path Aragorn had cut through the people towards the keep. Dashing up the stone steps, she caught sight of him pushing open the heavy wooden doors to the hall within, moving to follow just as her arm was caught by Legolas' gentle hand.

She looked up to meet his eyes, her own shining with hope as he smiled gently at her, not needing to exchange a word to share in her joy at the return of their leader. Grasping his hand, she tugged the elf after her, hearing Gimli shadowing their steps as they moved into the hall.

"-we are already preparing for battle." She caught her father declaring as he looked at the tattered form of Aragorn standing before him, his face painted with astonishment as his appearance.

"Not prepared enough." The Ranger insisted softly as Théadain moved to his side, unconsciously laying her hand on his bicep to reassure herself that he was still there; "The host I encountered was greater than any force created in this age. An army of its like will not have been seen since the days of the Last Alliance."

"A great host, you say?" The king frowned, standing to pace the hall, "How many?"

"Ten thousand strong at least."

"Ten thousand?" Théadain breathed in disbelief, looking up at Aragorn in shock, "No, such a number is impossible..."

"It is an army bred for a single purpose." He murmured grimly, looking between the woman at his side and her father, "To destroy the World of Men. They will be here by nightfall."

Théadain looked to her father fearfully, waiting for his command. Whatever it was she needed to do; she would see it done.

"Let them come." The king growled softly, looking to his daughter, the last Marshal of the Rohirrim that still stood by him. "Place your men in the armoury, Théadain. They will need to equip all we send there."

"I have already enlisted those villagers that have experience with a sword." She informed him softly, her stomach clenching at the way he shook his head.

"We will need every man and boy with the strength in his arm to simply _hold_ a sword, Thea."

Grimly, she nodded, swallowing thickly, "I will see it done, My King."

Reluctantly she withdrew her hand from Aragorn's arm, glancing up at him regretfully. She knew his wounds needed tended to, he needed to rest, and above all she wished to stay by his side. For the first time in her life she was momentarily torn between her duty and her heart.

His gentle, encouraging nod released her, and she bit her lip as she turned to stride from the hall, out into the bustling keep beyond.

*

The orders of the Third Marshal rang out across the fortress as she moved swiftly amongst her people. With her own riders overseeing the arming of each citizen who could wield a sword, she tasked herself with diverting archers to the walls above the gates and causeway. They did not have nearly enough, but she was loath to press a bow into the hands of any man that could not use it. Their arrows would be precious, she could not afford to waste any on target practice.

With the archers keeping watch over the ravine below, she moved to call on any healers she could find, sending them to set up quarters in the Hornburg. They would be of no use to her in the caves if men needed tending to in the midst of battle.

"Lady Théa?" A breathless pant at her arm made her turn as she oversaw the healers laying out bandages in preparation.

"Hela?" She could not help but smile at the woman who had appeared at her elbow, cradling her swollen belly with one hand as the other braced her lower back. Baldan had been right when he spoke of his wife, the time was drawing near for her to bring their child into the world, though their current situation was less than ideal.

"I have experience as a healer, Théa." The blonde woman smiled, her blue eyes shining with determination.

"I cannot ask it of you, my friend." The Marshal insisted softly, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder, "You should be in the caves, being so near a battle would not be good for your child."

"Your husband may have something to say about it too."

Théadain smiled as Baldan's voice reached her ears, watching as he took his wife's arm and laid an affectionate kiss on her cheek.

"I had hoped this would be a case of 'what my husband doesn't know won't hurt him', alas I was wrong." Hela laughed softly, even as concern crossed her features at the sight of her love dressed for battle, his helm tucked under his arm.

"Now he knows, and I expect him to see you safely into the caves." Théadain smiled at the pair, "We may have need for your skill after the battle, Hela, but until then, rest."

"I will." The blonde relented with a nod, glancing at her husband, "If you promise to keep him safe."

"I swear it." She nodded earnestly, following the couple down the steps outside the Hornburg and pausing on the final one to watch them make their way towards the caves. Glancing up, she could see her father leading Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli on a patrol of the walls, her heart fluttering at the sight of the man, still overwhelmed by the fact that he was here.

Her gaze was pulled away as her cousin brushed past her, her head bowed and her shoulders hunched with aggravation; "Éowyn?" She called, frowning as she turned to expose her thunderous expression.

"I am to be sent with the women into the caves." Éowyn breathed, her shoulders shaking as she tried to smother her anger.

"That is an honourable charge, Éowyn." Théa tried to soothe her, reaching to take her hands.

"To mind the children, to find food and bedding when the men return? What renown is there in that?" Her cousin spat.

"We do not seek renown in what we do, Éowyn." The redheaded woman reminded her, squeezing her hands, "I know you long to see battle, to protect your people, but it is not the glorious affair you imagine. I do not think of renown when I fight for my life, I do not even think of protecting Rohan. I think only of smothering my terror and taking the next step, doing anything I can to ensure I am not cut down."

"Let me stand at your side." The younger woman pleaded, clutching at her cousin's hands.

"I cannot overrule the order of our King." She breathed sadly, "And I could not ask it of you to take such a risk."

"You do not ask the others to stay!" She cried, gesturing to where she had seen the three companions her cousin had journeyed with on the wall, "They owe no loyalty to our lands, they fight beside you because they would not be parted with you. Because they love you."

"And I know you would stand by me for the same reasons, Éowyn." Théadain breathed earnestly, cupping her cousin's cheeks in her hands, "But you must understand that our people do not need you fighting at my side, they need you with them. They need your reassurance and your leadership. If anything were to happen to me, or father, you are all they have. There is renown in that." She sighed as her cousin nodded reluctantly in understanding, "Go now, nightfall is near. I will find you when this is all over."

"Be safe, Théa."

"And you, Éowyn." She tried to smile reassuringly as her cousin turned to go, leaving her standing alone on the steps, glancing up as a flock of black birds wheeled overhead. Saruman was watching, his forces had to be close now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunited at last!
> 
> Thank you for reading and thank you for all of the wonderful comments so far! It's so lovely to hear that you wonderful readers are enjoying the story! X


	41. Chapter 41

**_Chapter 41_ **

  
As night drew in around the fortress, tensions rose and courage wavered, the people within keenly feeling the threat hanging over their heads. Théadain did all she could to usher the last of the villagers into the caves before moving to the armoury to check on her men. As she rounded the corner of the building, she caught sight of Aragorn sinking down onto the steps, his eyes following the form of a boy, Háleth, as he walked away, swinging his sword experimentally. The boy would have been called to fight even if she had not allowed him to do so earlier. Háleth would not be the youngest soldier standing on their walls that night, she had passed boys as young as twelve, perhaps even younger, gripping shields and battered swords as they made their way unsurely to their posts. It sickened her, the sight of children being sent to fight. If it had been her command to make, she would not have allowed it, but this was war, and her father's word was final.

Biting her lip, she moved to the man's side, taking in his exhausted appearance. He had not rested since his arrival, nor had he tended to his injures.

"On your feet, soldier." She commanded with a small smile, offering Aragorn her hand as he looked up at the sound of her voice. With a weary smile he grasped her outstretched fingers, letting her pull him up. "You look awful." She murmured, ignoring his soft sound of protest as she reached to examine his shoulder, "Come, I'll patch you up before you need to arm yourself. Putting mail over those wounds will aggravate them."

"There is no time, Théa."

"There is time." She insisted softly, linking her fingers with his and gently leading him towards the Hornburg. The makeshift healing quarters were empty when she led him in, settling him in a chair with a firm hand on his chest before moving to gather a dish of water and some bandages. He said nothing as he watched her pull up a stool to sit opposite him, close enough that she could tuck her knees between his as she sat, his eyes following her hands closely as she dampened a cloth and moved to gently begin cleaning his face.

He sighed softly, closing his eyes as he surrendered to her touches, feeling how light and careful she was being with him, their quiet breathing and the drip of water in the dish as she rinsed the cloth the only sounds that disrupted the peace of the room. Slowly, she moved to his shoulder, carefully pulling back the torn fabric of his coat as she exposed the shallow wound. He could not recall if he had received it in the river, or hitting a rock, or perhaps even when the warg dragged him over the edge, but it gave him little bother. It would not impact his ability to fight. As she cleaned away the blood and grime from his skin, she moved to rest her forehead against his, just to maintain a little more contact as she focused on her task.

Satisfied that his shoulder would not hinder him, she carefully padded the exposed flesh with a folded bandage, before tugging the torn fabric of his shirt and coat over it to hold it in place. Rinsing her cloth once more, she moved to tenderly take his left hand in hers, slowly slipping the Ring of Barahir from his finger and laying it on her lap before gently wiping the dried blood from his hands. She had asked him about the ring, one night in Lothlórien, so long ago, when he had been tending to her wounded arm just as she tended to him now. The symbol of his lineage, of who he was had enchanted her at the time, and he had let her ask every question that had burned on her lips as he had begun to truly fall for the young woman before him.

"I heard your voice." He murmured softly as she tenderly cleaned his hands, feeling her eyes lift to his face at his words, "When the river washed me to the shore, I thought I would die, laying there. I had no strength, nothing left to make myself move... And then I heard you call my name." He looked up to meet her curious, tawny eyes, smiling gently at her, "Whether it was a dream, a memory, some vision... In that moment it felt real. I heard you, and I knew I had to carry on, to find you."

"Aragorn..." She whispered, her voice tentative as she curled her fingers around his, her heart feeling as if it would burst in her chest as the weight of his words settled on her.

"Théadain..."

She pressed forward, clutching at his hands as she swiftly kissed him, hesitant at first, but then urgently, pouring every ounce of love she felt for him into the kiss, feeling him tug her closer as he freed one hand from her grasp to cup her cheek. She felt tears escape from behind her closed eyelids as she felt him return the emotion with equal urgency, the teardrops rolling down her cheeks freely as he moved to kiss them away, caressing his thumb over her jaw.

"Aragorn..." She breathed his name once more as she leaned into his touches, her tangled emotions and all she had realised in his absence yearning to spill from her lips. She needed to explain, to reassure him that she would not pull away from him again, that she was his completely, whether it frightened her or not. "I... I have to tell you..."

"Don't." He pleaded softly, knowing what it was she would say, for he felt the same words on his own tongue. He feared them though, with the risk of her being taken from him so near. Legolas' earlier prediction of death as they had stood in the armoury still rang in his ears. "Not now, not with battle so close... Not when I could lose you..."

She swallowed thickly and nodded, gazing up into his stormy grey eyes, "As long as you know..."

"I know." He reassured her tenderly, laying a chaste kiss on her lips as he bent to recover the Ring of Barahir that had fallen to the stone floor between them, slipping it back on to his finger as his resolve settled. One day, he would give it to her, when he could truly promise a future with her, but not tonight. He could not make that promise whilst battle was the only certainty in their future.

"You should get to the armoury." She whispered softly, reaching to caress his stubbled jaw tenderly, sensing that their time was running out though she was reluctant to leave him. He nodded with a sigh, gently helping her to her feet and pulling her close to embrace her tightly, pressing his lips to her hair. She felt so small when he held her like this, her arms reaching to curl around his torso holding him just as tightly, burying her face in his chest and trying to absorb one last moment of comfort before what was to come.

Reluctantly, he drew back, laying a tender kiss on her brow before moving to the door, cold air rushing to fill the space she had warmed in his arms as he slipped away to the armoury.

Théa puffed out a sigh, laying aside the cloth she had been using as she turned to make her way through the far door of the room, knowing that her own armour had been laid in the hall her father had taken residence in.

The armour of the king had already been taken, and she found herself alone once more as she began to ready herself. As she unfastened the cloak she had been gifted in Lothlórien, she began the symbolic action of laying aside her distracting emotions, thoughts and feelings as she donned the mind of a soldier. Like slipping on a pair of well-worn boots, or curling her fingers around the moulded hilt of her sword, it was reassuring, comforting even, to assume the familiar role of the Marshal. 

Her armour had been designed similarly to Théodred's and Éomer's, over her chainmail she fastened her breastplate of reinforced leather, stained a rich mahogany and stamped with the concentric, swirling patterns favoured by her people. To her shoulders she fixed her epaulettes, recalling that the last time she had worn her armour had been the day she resolved to travel to Rivendell. Her vambraces followed, choosing to forego her thick gloves as she knew they would hinder her aim with a bow.

At last, giving herself a shake and stretching her arms to ensure all was fastened securely, she reached for her helmet. It was not as intricately adorned with horsehair plumage as Éomer's, though similarly designed otherwise, the nose guard worked into the shape of a horse's head by their most skilled blacksmiths. It was as she lightly touched her fingers to the horsehead, her thoughts turning to the whereabouts of her cousin and wondering if Gandalf would return with him, that the sound of the horn reached her ears. For a moment, fear seized her heart as she turned, but as the second blast rang out, she frowned. The horn of an orc did not ring out so clearly, yet it was higher pitched than the sound of a horn of Rohan.

Tucking her helm under her arm, she ran from the hall, dashing through the keep of the Hornburg to burst out into the cool night air, the breath snatched from her lungs at what she saw from the top of the keep's steps.

Cloaked in a deep, midnight navy, bows held before them and their porcelain features shining out amongst the bewildered men of Rohan, marched an army. Théadain could only watch in awe as they made their way up through the fortress, led by an elf cloaked in scarlet. A breathless smile broke across her lips as she recognised the Marchwarden of Lothlórien, Haldir.

Her feet carried her down the steps to where her father stood in stunned silence, watching as the army of elves, bidden by an unheard command, halted in perfect unison.

"How is this possible?" The king breathed as he stared at the hundreds of elves that now crowded his fortress, unable to estimate their full force as it snaked away down the pathway to the gate.

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell, and the Lady Galadriel." Haldir smiled, nodding his head to Théadain in recognition; "An alliance once existed between Elves and Men, long ago we fought and died together. We come to honour that allegiance, and a promise made to your daughter."

"Haldir..." She breathed in awe, suddenly recalling the words of the Lady Galadriel as they departed Lothlórien. _"_ _My gift to you is my word; when your need is greatest, we stand with you, Théadain, daughter of Théoden."_

" _Mae govannen, Haldir!"_ Aragorn's voice behind her made her turn as he rushed to greet the elf, pulling him into a tight embrace as Théadain's shock and disbelief slowly gave way to hope and relief. Their allies had come, they would not be left alone. "You are most welcome." The man assured him, drawing back as Legolas moved to embrace his kinsman.

"More than welcome." Théadain breathed, stepping forward, "Haldir, I never expected... Thank you." She bit her lip, reaching to lay a grateful hand on the elf's shoulder.

"We are proud to fight alongside men once more." He smiled at her, clasping the young woman's arm in a mark of familiarity. She returned his smile and nodded, stepping back.

"Come Haldir, there are many spaces on our walls to be filled, and time is short."

*

The fortress was silent as Théadain braced her arms against the Deeping Wall, having assisted Haldir in directing the elves to where they would be most needed, just as the first lights were spotted in the distance.

Her eyes fixed on the specks of flame amidst the black mass that slowly inched towards them from the distant mouth of the ravine. She could not tell yet if Aragorn's estimate had been correct, ten thousand was simply too great a number for her to imagine. And yet, a grim, determined hope flared in her chest. They were no longer a meagre force of three hundred ragged fighters, the arrival of the elves had bolstered their numbers to beyond a thousand. They equalled a tenth of the force that marched on them, and whilst their enemy had strength, they had skill, and several feet of solid rock to protect them. There might yet be hope.

Turning, she gave Haldir a parting nod, securing her helmet under her arm as she strode from his portion of the wall, and the company he commanded, moving to where the uniform ranks of elves was interrupted by the forms of her three companions, her earlier encounter with Aragorn echoing in her mind. As she had sent her own company to form ranks above the gates after the arrival of the elves, he had caught her arm, gazing intently down at her. _"If you ask it of me, I will stand by your side."_

She had considered his words, the temptation of having him near, being able to see him and know he was safe, almost prompted her to ask him to stay. Yet she knew his skill, his leadership was needed elsewhere. He would not be content to follow her orders, he was a leader, and the men and elves both respected him. So, she had refused, knowing he understood her reasoning when she asked him to command the archers on the wall. They could protect one another from afar, by making sure the fortress stood.

Silently, she moved to Aragorn's side, following the gazes of her friends to settle once more on the approaching army. She could hear the steady beat of thousands of footfalls now, they were getting closer.

"Your friends are with you, Aragorn, Théadain." Legolas murmured as she approached, biting her lip.

"Let's hope they last the night." Gimli grumbled softly.

"We will." Théadain breathed, her fingers moving to brush the back of Aragorn's hand, the only touch she would allow herself before withdrawing. "For if any of you die, just know I will be furious beyond words."

At Gimli's response of a low chuckle her lips quirked into a grim smile, offering them one last glance before she strode away towards to battlement above the gate, just as Aragorn moved to stand by his archers. She had to believe she would see them again.

That she would see _him_ again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our emotionally illiterate heroine is finally beginning to figure out what she's doing!
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading and for your support! X


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

  
It was as Théadain climbed the stone steps to the gate tower, the heavens chose that moment to open. Cold, heavy rain fell, bouncing off metal and stone and soaking the bodies of the men that crowded the walls of the fortress. It took mere seconds to plaster Théadain's hair to her head as she made her way to the edge of the wall, offering a reassuring smile to her company as she passed them. Their ranks stretched along the battlement, three rows positioned so as the back rows could provide a volley of arrows without endangering the men in front. She knew each man by name and trusted each with her life. She could think of no others she would rather stand with in this moment.

"I suppose the rain is a bad sign?" Baldan murmured, moving to her side to hand his leader her bow.

"No, I would say the ten thousand Uruk-hai are a slightly worse sign." She smiled wryly, her voice dropping low so the men would not hear her, "How are they?"

"Frightened." He whispered honestly, "I'm not sure how we're going to get ourselves out of this one, Théa."

She nodded, turning to look into the faces of her company, seeing that carefully managed fear clear in the eyes of each man as the rain pelted their bodies. Her gaze landed on one in the second row, Fenmund, the son of her fallen mentor, offering him what she hoped was a reassuring smile as he met her eyes. He looked so like his father now, she thought.

"Rohirrim." She addressed them, loud enough that they could hear over the sound of the rain, "I wish I could summon a battle speech worthy of the kings of old, but I know you need no words to drive you. You know what you defend." She pulled her shoulders back to straighten her posture as she continued, "On these stone walls stand your brothers, fathers, sons. In the caves below are your wives, daughters, mothers. The beating heart of Rohan lies within this fortress and we are its last hope." She cast a wary glance over her shoulder at the approaching army, "Saruman can rain steel and fire down upon our heads, but we will not break, we will _not_ fall. Know that I stand with you now, and when the dawn comes, I hope to stand with you still."

As the clattering of spears, roars and footfalls behind her grew deafening, she turned, swallowing thickly as she watched the army grow ever closer, trampling the ground where she had stood just that afternoon, reunited with the man she loved. She could see them clearly now, the Uruk-hai, their masses stretching out, filling the ravine with more snarling bodies than she could fully comprehend. The last time she had heard those growls and war cries, she had been fighting for her life alongside Boromir.

With a roar from a commander, she watched as the creatures halted, level with the causeway they guarded. She placed her helm over her sodden hair as she stepped to the edge of the battlement to look down upon them, bracing her hands on the freezing, wet stone as she steeled herself against the fear rising in her chest. She would not be crushed, not now.

"None are to reach the gates." She murmured softly as the army below snarled and spat, their enemies surveying them as if they would a trembling animal in a snare. Grimacing, she drew back to shoulder her well-stocked quiver and lift her bow, her fingers sweeping the rain from the polished wood as lightning split the sky above them, illuminating her grim, determined expression and the sneers of the horde below.

As if spurred by the rumble of thunder that followed the lightning, the Uruks below began to beat their spears against the ground in a quickening rhythm that echoed off the valley walls in a clear attempt to intimidate the men and elves before them. It worked, though Théadain was battle-hardened enough to drive her fear deep, to let it give her strength. These were the creatures that had cut down both Boromir and Théodred, sent by the same wizard that had orchestrated the warg attack that almost took Aragorn from her. This was the moment she had waited for, the moment she could avenge them.

"Let us show Saruman what strength still lies in Rohan." She growled, "Take aim!" She called over the sound of the hammering of spears, hearing the sound of bowstrings being drawn back as she fitted an arrow to her own, her eye finding an Uruk in the front line below the causeway.

She almost released her arrow as a commanding cry echoed from the Deeping wall, her ears picking out the sound of Aragorn's voice even as he spoke in elvish, though it was not a command to fire. Below them the Uruks had fallen deathly silent as one of their ranks fell, an arrow protruding from its neck.

The first kill had been made.

Théadain gritted her teeth as, with a resounding roar, the horde charged on the fortress.

"Fire!" She cried her command, releasing her arrow and watching it sail to meet its mark as a hundred more soared past her. Already she reached for her second arrow, fitting it as throughout the fortress, the men and elves began their defence.

The first cries of her kin and allies chilled her heart more than the rain ever could, as the first Uruks reached the foot of the Deeping wall and began their attack with fierce, heavy looking crossbows. Another cry of 'fire' left her lips as her eyes were drawn to the first few creatures trying to make their way up the causeway, bringing them down with a merciless hail of arrows. A bolt from an enemy bow whipped over her head, though she dared not turn to see where it had landed.

"Fire at will!" She called to her men as she zeroed in her focus on the causeway, determined not to let a single creature reach the gate. No attacking army had ever set foot inside the Hornburg, and she would not be the one to let that happen.

The intensity of her task took hold of her, her breath coming in steady pants as she settled into the rhythm of battle. With each inhale, she drew back her bowstring, with her exhale, her arrow met the flesh of her enemy. Adrenaline thrummed in her veins, blocking out all other distractions, each cry of battle and every clash of weaponry until Baldan's hand met her shoulder.

"Théa- ladders! They're on the wall!" He cried, watching as she lowered her bow to dash to the battlement that overlooked the Deeping wall, a loud curse leaving her lips as she saw the ladders and the Uruks that swarmed up them, breaching the wall where Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli stood.

"Defend the wall!" She ordered, trying not to let her fear creep into her voice; "Take down the ones on the ladders!"

Her eyes desperately tried to find the forms of her friends amongst the fray atop the wall, but it was impossible. It was all she could do to set her sights confidently on an Uruk, ensuring she would not hit one of their own as she fired.

The ladders were coming thick and fast, Saruman had planned well, she thought as she tried to divide her attentions between bringing down the creatures that climbed the structures and keeping one eye on the causeway. She barely noted that above them, the rain had stopped. As she glanced back to the ramp of stone after bringing down another creature, a low groan rose in her throat.

"Causeway!" She yelled to her men, watching in horror as the mass of Uruks marched up the stone, positioning their shields around them and over their heads so that they resembled the scales of a great, metallic snake. "Bring them down!" She cried as she fired on them, a growl leaving her lips as her arrow missed its mark and glanced off a shield. She loosed another three arrows, only one finding flesh between the shields and sending an Uruk tumbling over the edge of the causeway.

It was just as she began to fear they would reach the gates that the world around her erupted in an explosion of sound, fire and stone.

The force of the blast knocked her body into the battlements, her bow breaking under her as the very fortress beneath her feet seemed to shake, her ears ringing as she staggered to her feet, desperately trying to comprehend what had happened.

"Théa-"

"Baldan..." She gasped, grasping the arm of her friend as she pulled him up from where he had fallen to the ground. She tugged her helmet off as she looked around frantically, feeling too constricted as she tried to work out what had caused the impenetrable fortress to shake. "No!" She cried, her helm falling to the stone floor as she took in the sight of the great, gaping wound in the Deeping wall. The exact stretch she had placed Aragorn and his archers on.

Her legs shook as she tried to wrap her mind around it, the fact that an entire stretch of their defences had been wiped out in seconds, and now their enemies spilled into the fortress like a great black tide. The fact that she had placed Aragorn directly in harm's way.

"Brace the gates!"

Her father's cry dragged her from her shocked stupor, turning frantically to see that the Uruks on the causeway below had reached the gate, and were preparing a battering ram. For a moment, panic welled in her chest. There was too much happening, too many attacks to defend. She couldn't plan, she couldn't lead her men through this. She bit back a choked sound, shaking her head as she forced her will to rally. She would not be overcome.

With a cry of rage she drew her sword, smothering her terror and turning to her men that looked to her for guidance, equally shaken by the explosion. She could not let her eyes linger on where a few had fallen, taken down by either enemy arrows or debris from the explosion. "Hold them!" She cried, pointing her sword down at the causeway as she grasped the remaining few arrows in her quiver and thrust them at Baldan; "Use every arrow you have left, do not let them breach the gate!"

She could not give in, not while she still drew breath.

Without her bow, she grabbed for chunks of stone that littered the ground, throwing the remains of their ruined defences down to batter the creatures below. It didn't matter how she did it, as long as she held them back. If the gates were breached, they had no way out.

She turned at the sound of her father's voice ringing out through the fortress, cutting through the sounds of battle. The King's guard had been positioned on the battlement of the Hornburg itself, able to see the entire fortress from their vantage point. She could only imagine the devastation her father would be able to see.

"Aragorn! Fall back to the keep!" The king cried, and her heart leapt with the knowledge that somewhere out there, Aragorn was alive, he had survived the blast. "Get your men out of there!"

"More arrows!" She called, drawing her thoughts from Aragorn as she looked down at where the Uruks had almost forced their way into the keep.

"Théa most of us have used our last." Baldan breathed, throwing down his bow as she turned to look at her men, "They'll break through."

Swallowing against the bile that rose in her throat, she nodded in understanding; "Swords, draw swords if you have no arrows." She called grimly to the men, "Baldan, lead half the company to the gate- the rest of you with me!" She called, bending to snatch up her helmet and turning to the men that had made up the front rows of archers, "Use the last of your arrows to defend the keep, then we follow."

"My Lady." Baldan nodded in understanding as she caught his shoulder.

"Be safe." She insisted as she tugged on her helmet, "Fall back if they overwhelm you- now go."

She watched as he turned to lead the back row of the company down the stone steps as she dared to glance over the edge of the battlement once more to check on the causeway. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Aragorn and Gimli fiercely battling the Uruks below – how they got there, she could not comprehend, but there was no time to do so. To her right, the Uruks had begun to lay siege to the Hornburg itself. Great ladders were being raised against the fortress wall, laden with Uruk-Hai warriors.

As her men released the last of their arrows in an attempt to hold the gate, she stood, watching in terror as the creatures spilled over the fortress wall, only roused by a hand on her shoulder.

"Legolas?" She breathed in confusion as she looked up at the elf.

"They need you below. They're breaking in." He breathed, moving past her to the battlement as she nodded.

" _Rohirrim_ , with me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle is well and truly underway!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and all of your support, don't forget to leave a comment if you're enjoying the story! X


	43. Chapter 43

**_Chapter 43_ **

  
" _Rohirrim,_ with me!" Théadain called to her men, raising her sword before turning to lead them down the dark stone steps, towards the pathways that led to the lower level of the keep. Her breath came in ragged pants as she braced her free hand against the cold stone wall before charging out onto the lower level of the keep. Her company did not make it far before they encountered the Uruk-hai that had made it over the wall, a cry of defiance leaving the Shieldmaiden's lips as she threw herself into the deafening fray.

Spinning and twisting, she cut down each enemy that stepped into her path, spurred on by the terror that threatened to consume her, harnessing it.

For the first time since she had left Rohan, she found herself fighting alongside her countrymen on foot once more. Unable to rely on the advantage of their horses, she needed their skill and endurance more than ever. Her company mingled with the crowds of other fighters defending the wall, all frantically battling to try and preserve what was left of their land and people.

Yet they were being forced back, for each step she took forward she had to dance back three to avoid being struck, even then receiving the odd knock from a well-placed armoured limb. Below her, her feet continually stumbled over the debris of battle; discarded weaponry, armour, bodies... Though she did not dare look to confirm her fears. There were simply too many of their enemies, they flooded the lower levels, and as the sky began to lighten above her, it was becoming desperately clear that she could see more Uruks than men.

"Fall back!" The call rang out, bouncing off the cold stone walls that surrounded the last forces of Rohan, making Théadain cry out desperately as she heard the command again, cleaving the head from an Uruk's shoulders as she did so. She didn't want to consider what that command meant. She couldn't bear to consider defeat.

"Retreat!" She called to any of her men that were left, any that could hear her, "Get to the upper level, pull back!" She watched as the few that remained turned to follow her order, holding herself firm as she forced back a few more of their enemies to give the men time, before turning to flee after them.

Her steps were shadowed, every few seconds she had to turn to cut back an Uruk that snapped at her heels, snarling with frustration as she locked blades with one halfway up a flight of steps, feinting to the side to knock him off balance and throw him down, just as another swiped clumsily at her, cutting across her chest and knocking her onto her back on the steps, her helmeted head hitting the stone heavily.

Her breastplate took the brunt of the blow, but she still felt the crushing weight of it forcing the air from her lungs as she fell back, kicking the advancing Uruk in the jaw even as it sliced at her legs, only managing to catch the side of her calf before she booted it away, scrambling to her feet to force her body to the top of the steps. She could see nothing now but Uruk-hai as she ran, forcing her burning, aching muscles to carry her into the keep set in to the stone face of the ravine, skidding through the great wooden doors of the hall just as the guards moved to pull them closed. Breathlessly, she let herself slump against the wall by the door as it was barricaded, panting heavily as she closed her eyes. They were trapped, beaten. Her chest tighened with a pain that had nothing to do with the blow she had just received as she processed their options.

There was one passageway at the back of the hall that led to the caves, but that was the only way out. Even then if they made for the caves, they wouldn't make it out the other side to the mountain pass before their enemies were upon them.

Hope was lost, there was nothing they could do. Rohan would fall.

The hall was chaotic, filled with men, a few elves and cries of pain. As Théadain forced herself to open her eyes, to take it in, she saw the wounded being carried into the healing quarters, grimly wondering what good it would do when the Uruks eventually burst through the doors. She pushed herself off the wall, tugging her helmet off as she staggered into the centre of the room, watching the men lifting benches, tables, anything they could use to reinforce the doors. Desperately, she tried to take stock of those she could see - Gimli, Gamling, her father, Legolas... She could identify at least two cloaks of her company amidst the chaos, but could pick out no faces.

"Théadain."

She could have wept as Aragorn appeared in front of her, clasping her shoulders to look her over as she swayed before him, though her relief at seeing him here was outweighed by the sheer hopelessness that had settled on her.

"We failed, Aragorn." She choked softly, shaking her head, "I couldn't hold them back."

"You did all you could." He breathed, cupping her cheek, "There is still more that can be done."

She flinched as behind her, a crash rang out through the hall. They were at the doors, they were trying to get in. Aragorn dashed from her side to help the men hold the doors, dragging a bench over as he did so.

"The fortress is taken. It is over." The defeated tones of her father reached her ears, and Théadain turned to see him standing, watching his men trying to buy themselves a few more moments. Her throat tightened as she saw the way he clutched at his shoulder awkwardly, clearly nursing a wound. She reasoned with herself that it did not seem serious, but still her gut twisted at the image of her father - her king - weakened.

"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it." Aragorn insisted as he moved to confront the king, "They still defend it. They have died defending it!"

With a wince, Theadain rubbed her hand over her aching chest, feeling where the Uruk's blade had cut through her breastplate right to her mail. "We're trapped here, Aragorn." She breathed softly as she watched him desperately try to calculate their next move.

"Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" He breathed to her, looking between her and her father as neither answered, "Is there no other way?"

"There is one passage." She nodded after a moment, seeing his reasoning. Perhaps they could save some small part of Rohan, if not themselves. "It leads into the mountains."

"But they will not get far, the Uruk-Hai are too many!" Gamling interrupted her, his own words breathless and fearful.

"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass. And barricade the entrance!" Aragorn ordered the man, as behind them the battering on the doors became more forceful.

"So much death." Théoden breathed as he watched Gamling go, "What can men do against such reckless hate?"

The daughter of the king looked to her father brokenly as his grim statement settled upon her shoulders, feeling herself trying to cling to the vain chance that they might save _some_ of their people. That chance seemed to slip further away with each urgent, violent crash against the doors of the keep. What _could_ they do? Run? Stand here in the dark and wait for death to come? 

"Ride out with me."

Théadain turned to Aragorn in shock at his words, the determined look in his eyes sparking something deep within her, too weak to be called hope, but _something._

"Ride out and meet them." The man breathed, watching as the king slowly turned towards him.

"For death and glory?"

"For _Rohan_. For your people." Aragorn insisted as Théadain nodded, moving to lay her hand on her father's arm.

"For Théodred." She whispered, meeting the gaze of her father and seeing his hopelessness slowly change to determination.

"The sun is rising." Gimli murmured softly behind them, and she turned to see the soft rays of light beginning to filter in through the high windows of the East wall. The light would not hinder their enemies, but it gave her hope.

"Come father." She smiled weakly, "We will not die here, hiding in the dark. Let us meet them under the sun. We can die in the free air."

"Yes..." The king nodded, gripping his daughter's arm as he looked down at her, his eyes brighter, more determined, yet not without conflict. This was not the fate he had wished for her, his firstborn. If he could have done anything to save her, he would have, but now it was too late. If they were both to die, it gave him courage to have her by his side. "Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep - one last time." He turned to announce to the hall, moving to clasp Aragorn's shoulder. "Let this be the hour when we draw swords together." He breathed, looking to the would-be king of men.

"Horses." Théadain called urgently to the men by the door, "Get to the stables, every man strong enough to ride, take a horse!" Her command was answered by more than she expected, the meagre amount of survivors in the hall were joined by those that spilled from the healing quarters after carrying their companions in. As they scrambled to the stables beneath the keep, leading up the horses in a chaotic clatter of hooves on stone, she saw that the last stand of Rohan may not be as pitiful as she thought.

She kissed Folca's muzzle affectionately as he was brought to her, "One last adventure calls us, my friend." In her heart she had accepted it, she would meet her end beyond those doors, but she did not feel quite as hopeless as she had done before. They would give the women and children time. Éowyn would lead them to safety. In its own, small way, Rohan would endure. 

Still, she mused internally as resolve settled in her chest; if this was to be her end, she could not let herself go with any remaining regret.

"Aragorn." She called softly to the man as he appeared at her side, leading Brego. Catching his hand, she pulled him close. She did not care that they were not alone, that the men and her father would see as she caught his face in both her hands and pulled his lips to hers, kissing him deeply, lovingly and urgently.

She felt him return the kiss with the same emotion, so much so that she had to force herself to pull away and release a shaking breath, "I love you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

He breathlessly pressed his forehead to hers, a small smile gracing his lips as he summoned his voice, husky from the intensity of her kiss, "And I love you, Théadain, daughter of Théoden."

"Good." She laughed weakly, stroking her thumb over his cheek as she pulled away, knowing they needed to say nothing more, no tearful goodbyes or promises of protecting one another. She had told him, he knew. She could go now with her only regret being her lost future. _Their_ lost future. Hauling herself into her saddle, she bit her lip sheepishly as her father gave her an enquiring look, shaking her head as she drew up Folca's reins, settling him as he danced beneath her.

As the other riders mounted, numbering near twenty in total, their king moved to the front of their small company, sat astride his mount. "Fell deeds awake." He breathed as they watched the doors at the entrance to the hall begin to buckle, "Now for wrath, now for ruin, and a red dawn!" He called, tugging his helmet on.

Around them, the walls shook as, somewhere in the fortress, Gimli set his lips to the horn of Helm Hammerhand, the deep, baritone sound echoing throughout the Deep, and through Théadain's chest. Her body shook with anticipation as in that moment her pained and weary muscles were forgotten; she truly felt the blood of kings in her veins and the spirit of every Shieldmaiden that ever came before her driving her on. She was a daughter of Rohan, the daughter of the king, and she would not die quietly in the dark.

Théadain cried out defiantly as the doors finally gave with a mighty crash, drawing her sword at her father's battle call.

" _Forth Eorlingas!_ "

The hoofbeats on stone, the snarls of the enemies that charged towards them with weapons drawn, even the war cry from her own lips were drowned out by the frantic beating of Théadain's heart in her ears. With one hand she gripped Folca's reins, the other swinging her sword out with practiced precision, despite the fact that her hands were slick with sweat and blood.

The fortress blurred past her as Folca pressed on, following the path of Théoden and Snowmane, bowling over and cutting down Uruks as they went. She saw so little of it, focused as she was on moving forward, staying seated, anticipating that with each turn, with each new foe, it would all be over.

Yet it did not end. Even as they burst through the ruined gates, escaping the shadow of the fortress and charging out into the daylit battlefield, their enemies falling at their feet, they were not cut down. Spurring her on above her, the banner of Rohan flew, carried by another rider as they clattered down the causeway, crying out fiercely as their horses leapt fearlessly into the ocean of steel and Uruk-hai below.

It was here that their charge was slowed, like running into water. Théadain growled in frustration as Folca struggled to force his way through their enemies, his impossibly brave heart driving him to follow the will of his rider as she hacked at the Uruks that rose up around them. This was where she would be overwhelmed, with her foes no longer focused on the fortress they would fall upon the party of scattered riders. That had been their aim though, to draw them away from where the women and children were escaping, and the injured men that lay in the Hornburg. Every moment she could stay in the saddle, would be another moment for them. Her blows were landing frantically now; she was tired, battered and bruised, she could not manage strikes of precision, instead simply trying to knock the creatures back with sheer force.

As one lunged for her, grasping her arm to try and pull her from the saddle she cried out in alarm, almost losing her grip on her sword as Folca wheeled around, his thrashing, stamping hooves knocking the Uruk to the ground as she clung to his neck, panting breathlessly. As she forced herself to sit up, looking around her in search of her next quarry, a call rang out over the ravine.

" _Rohirrim_!"

She looked to her father in alarm, fearing he was hurt and calling his riders to him, but the call had not come from the king. He remained astride his horse some distance from her, his eyes locked on the Eastern face of the ravine, his expression fixed in an amazed grin.

A disbelieving sob of relief escaped her lips as she followed his gaze, her eyes fixing on the forms of the riders stood at the top of the ravine, led by one robed in pure white, and the other who had made the call, clad in a helm adorned with a plume of white horsehair.

"Éomer!" She cried in awe, as around her the Uruks turned in a panic to take in this new threat.

"To the king!" Her cousin's call rang out, echoing off the stone walls of the ravine as he led the charge down the impossibly steep slope of loose stone that led to the valley floor. Lesser mounts and riders would not have dared attempt the charge, but the horses of the Rohirrim were surefooted, and their riders brave.

Beneath the slope, the Uruk-hai frantically tried to regroup, to form ranks and position their pikes as the riders spilled towards them. There had to be thousands, Théadain thought, every rider that Grima had banished now rode behind her cousin. With a hopeful cry the raised her sword once more, spurring Folca to pursue the creatures that had turned from her, cutting across their backs with renewed vigour as, backed by the blinding light of the rising sun, the riders charged onto the battlefield.

As she fought on, the light grew in strength, illuminating the inhabitants of the ravine and fortress that had abandoned all hope of seeing a new day, the numbers of their enemies seemed to dwindle. As fresh horses and riders swept past her, for the first time Théadain could count more allies in her line of sight than foes. A breathless, exhausted laugh left her lips as she withdrew her sword from the neck of an Uruk and turned to see their enemies beginning to flee, frantically scrambling away from the overwhelming number of riders.

"Victory!" The voice of the king reached her ears over the clamour of hoofbeats and the screeches of the retreating army, "We have victory!"

A shuddering breath of disbelief broke free of the Shieldmaiden's battered body as she looked to her father. She had been so certain, so accepting of their loss, that she could barely comprehend this turn. Yet here she sat, still astride her horse and surrounded by the men of the Riddermark that had come to their aid. An elated, incredulous smile broke across her face as she rested her bloodied blade against her shoulder, bending to lay an affectionate pat on Folca's sweat-slicked neck.

Somehow, against all odds and certainty, Rohan had endured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Helm's Deep is over, the battle for Middle Earth is about to begin.
> 
> (Just kidding, there's a whole lot of cleanup for our girl to do - you didn't think she'd leave her people to trot off to Orthanc, did you?)
> 
> Thank you for reading and for all of your support, I'm so glad to hear that people been enjoying the battle chapters, it can be difficult to paint a clear picture of what is going on and I hope I've achieved that! X


	44. Chapter 44

**_Chapter 44_ **

  
Théadain could not have put her elation in to words in those moments following the intensity of the battle. Adrenaline still pulsed through her veins, her heart still thudding as though she were still in the grips of the fight, even as she had watched Saruman's decimated army of Uruk-Hai flee into the forest at the mouth of the ravine. The forest which she knew had never stood on this land, but she had dared not say as much as she had watched the trees begin to sway and groan, and the terrible screeches that echoed out from the depths of the woods as the trees themselves appeared to ensure that no Uruk-hai would manage to flee the Battle of the Hornburg.

It was as she had watched the trees in wary awe that Éomer had ridden to her side, his eyes ablaze with the thrill and intensity of his fight.

"Éomer- you came back." She breathed, reaching to grip his hand as his mount - Firefoot - settled at Folca's side, longing to embrace him but unable to reach.

"Not too late, I hope?" He smiled wryly down at his cousin, seeing the weariness in her eyes as she clutched his gloved hand.

"Just in time." She reassured him softly, looking up at the fortress that still – barely – stood behind them, "The women and children were told to flee the caves. Can you send a few of your men to inform them of our victory?"

"We will sweep the fortress first, to make sure no Uruk-hai remain." He assured her, clapping a hand on her shoulder and chuckling at her slight wince before moving to call on his company.

Rubbing her aching shoulder with a tired smile, she watched as the riders were directed back to the fortress, glancing up as another horse was drawn up beside hers. She smiled fondly as she watched Folca turn to affectionately bump his muzzle to Brego's, reunited with his friend once more.

"Théa?"

Aragorn's soft call drew her eyes away from the horses, smiling up at his battle-worn figure even as her heart leapt at the sight of him. She hadn't doubted that he had survived their charge onto the battlefield, not for a moment, but still it was a relief to see him so solid before her.

"Didn't think I'd get to see you again." She murmured, smiling at his weary chuckle in response.

"No, nor I." He smiled gently down at the young woman that had confessed her love to him mere moments before throwing herself onto the battlefield. She looked exhausted, her fiery hair hanging loose around her shoulders, still damp from the rain that had fallen in the night, a small trickle of dried blood running down the left side of her face from her hairline, a bruise already blossoming on her right cheekbone. Her eyes no longer seemed dull with defeat though, as they had been in the keep of the Hornburg. There was a light of hope there now, her people had endured this battle, she had not failed them, and he had not failed her.

There were still words that needed to be spoken between them. Still so many things to think over and reassure each other of, but now was not the time. He could see it even as her eyes pulled back to the fortress. Exhausted as she was, her work was not yet done. Whilst Aragorn knew he had some hold over her heart, it still truly lay with her people, with Rohan, and in this moment, they still needed her.

"Go." He reassured her gently as she glanced back to him, nodding in understanding as she spurred Folca to follow her cousin and his riders back into the fortress.

*

The elation and hope Théadain had felt outside the walls of Helm's Deep was short lived. As she stood on the steps of the Hornburg, surveying the devastation of the battle, she could feel nothing but sorrow. They had won, yes, but at the most terrible cost.

"Don't open the gates of the caves yet." She informed Gamling softly as he stood at her side, having miraculously survived the end of the battle, "The women and children don't need to see this."

"Your orders, my lady?" He nodded; his own eyes fixed on the desolation before him.

"Search for survivors first, then have the bodies of our men and any elves laid out in the Hornburg." She murmured after a moment of thought, "I don't want them left to lie amongst the corpses of our enemies."

Gamling bowed his head to the Marshal and moved back into the keep to pass on her orders, as Théadain's feet carried her up towards the gatetower she and her men had protected hours ago. She had felt the loss of soldiers before, casualties of attacks on their lands, and had felt each loss keenly. The first time a rider had died under her command she had been unable to lead a patrol for weeks; she had been so riddled with guilt. It had not grown easier as time had gone on, but she had learned to cope with it, to push herself on. The most she had ever lost at any one time was seven, during a particularly vicious orc attack some years ago. She had sworn then that she would never lose so many again.

This was not an attack on a patrol though, this was a battle, and their losses had been far beyond anything she had dared to dread. Even as she climbed to the first level of battlements, she could not take a single step without having to avoid a body, whether it was an Uruk, an elf or a man of Rohan. Even the word 'man' was a generous description for some. As she bent to carefully check each body belonging to her own race or of their allies, her stomach churned as she counted far too many of the frightened boys she had seen sent off to the walls. A few of those she checked still lived, either barely clinging to life or knocked unconscious, and she was able to call for more able-bodied men to carry them down to the keep as she pressed on with her search.

It was as she moved to where the fighting had been at its most frantic, beneath the gate tower, that the strength of her stomach left her, and she had to brace her hand against the wall as she doubled over, retching as the horror of the battle's aftermath settled on her. Spitting and grimacing to clear her mouth of bile, she leaned heavily against the wall. The rush of adrenaline that had kept her moving was leaving her body, leaving pain and exhaustion in its wake. Her chest ached with each heaving breath she drew in, the pain stemming from the heavy blow she had taken to her breastplate. Her shoulder and swordarm grated in protest at each movement, her muscles begging her to rest after the abuse they had suffered with each strike she had dealt, each pull of her bowstring.

She could not let herself rest, though. There were men laying on these walls who needed her, and she would not leave them.

At the top of the gate tower she carefully examined the bodies she found there, the ones belonging to men of her company. She was relieved to see there were only a few, the Uruk-hai had not made it this far in the initial hours of the battle, and the men that had fallen were those that had been pierced by enemy crossbow bolts. Summoning her courage, she searched through them, laying the fallen out carefully so they could be brought down to the Hornburg, wiping clumsily at the tears pooling in her eyes as she worked. As she checked over one, a gasp of surprise left her lips as he groaned under her hands.

"Alheld?" She called the man's name once her weary mind had managed to recall it, "Alheld?"

His responding grunt gave her hope, and as she carefully pulled him to sit up, slinging his arm over her shoulder, she could see little evidence of injury on him. He must have been knocked unconscious during the blast that shattered the Deeping wall. Gripping the man's arm with one hand, her other grasping his waist, she hauled him up, groaning under his weight as she half-carried, half-dragged him down the gatetower steps, staggering towards the healing quarters in the Hornburg. Panting out what she hoped were words of comfort and reassurance, she hefted him through the doorway of the hall, her step faltering at the sight that lay before her.

The entire hall was filled with people and elves, the ones that were on their feet rushing back and forth, gathering bandages and water for those that lay on the ground. It was the men on the ground that drew her attention, their cries and low moans of pain, their frantic begging for help or relief from their agony. In addition to the sound, the smell of the room was choking. Théadain could practically taste the metallic tang of blood amidst the stench of sweat, fear and the other bodily fluids that came with the dead and dying. They lay everywhere, on every inch of ground that a body could be squeezed into, the comfort of cots and bedding forgotten in favour of simply laying them down. Even as she watched, spaces became available, as healers shook their heads mournfully over the bodies of those they could not save, before gesturing for them to be moved.

Carefully she handed off Alheld to one of the healers, her feet drawing her deeper into the hall as she looked around, recognising the forms of men that had stood at her side not hours ago.

"My lady?" A hand at her elbow made her turn, and she gasped in relief at the sight of Folhelm, her banished lieutenant that had been riding with Éomer.

"Folhelm- you don't now how glad I am to see you." She breathed, grasping his arm.

"You need to come with me, Théadain, quickly." He murmured seriously, her throat seizing at his sombre expression.

"What is it? Who's hurt, Folhelm?"

He shook his head as he led her through the hall, ducking under a curtain that had been hung to create some divide in the room. There were injured men everywhere here, ones with more grave wounds lain on cots, some even laying atop the wooden tables that had been used to barricade the doors.

"We found him near the gates, he's badly hurt, Théadain." He informed her softly, trying to prepare her as she turned to look for whom he spoke of.

"No..." She choked as her eyes landed on a helmet that she recognised, discarded on the ground as two healers knelt by a makeshift cot. "Baldan? _Baldan!"_ She cried, rushing to the side of her second in command as one of the healers stepped back. "No, no what happened? Can he hear me? Will he be alright?" She demanded as she knelt by his head, her fingers gently touching his deathly pale forehead which crumpled with a groan of pain.

"He's conscious, my lady." She looked up into the regretful eyes of the older woman who spoke to her, and she recognised her as one of the healers from Edoras. Swallowing thickly, she reached for the wad of bloodied bandages that the woman had been pressing to Baldan's side, carefully holding her expression steady as she took in the large wound. It looked as though a spear had pierced him under his arm with such force that it had broken through his armour and shattered the mail beneath, leaving a deep gouge on his ribs at his chest, which quickly filled with fresh blood as she lifted the wad of linen away. Hissing in a breath through her teeth, she pressed it back, using the heel of her hand to apply pressure.

"Can you save him?" She whispered, glancing up at the healer. She had seen men bleed out from lesser wounds, and this was so near his heart she feared that they would run out of time soon, yet she could not let herself do nothing, not for the man who had saved her life more times than she could count.

"We'll do all we can." The healer promised as the Shieldmaiden shook her head, tears stinging her eyes at the words which were a tender way of saying 'no'.

"Folhelm." She called the younger man who had stood watching her mournfully, "I need you to find someone, the man I travelled with, you remember from the plains?" She breathed as he knelt by her side, nodding in understanding, "He is a skilled healer and I need him, Baldan needs him. His name is Aragorn, tell him where I am."

The fair-haired man nodded again, clasping her shoulder before standing and ducking below the curtain that separated them from the chaos beyond, as Théadain turned back to her friend, pressing her hand down firmly on his wound.

"Get his armour off." She instructed the healers firmly, not allowing them to give up on him, "And his mail..." She trailed off as Baldan groaned softly, his brow furrowing at the sound of his leader's voice.

"Don't move now, you great fool." She breathed affectionately to him, catching his hand and tugging his glove off so she could wrap her fingers around his, "You need your strength. You are not permitted to die, do you understand?" She whispered tearfully as his eyes opened just a little, clouded by pain and confusion at the lack of a battle surrounding him; "We won, Baldan, it's over, you can't leave now."

"Hela...?" He choked softly, his fingers squeezing hers weakly.

"Is still safe in the caves." She reassured him, "Along with your child."

"Good..." He breathed, his eyes closing once more as she released his hand to help gently free him of his armour and mail, grimacing at the shards of metal that caught in his wound as she did so.

"Théadain?"

Aragorn's voice behind her made her shoulders slump with relief, even as the wad of bandages under her hand became saturated with Baldan's blood. She felt his hand on her back as he knelt at her side, his other hand already moving to cover hers to apply more pressure to the wound.

"Please." She begged softly as she felt his fingers grip her bloodied ones, "He can't die, I need him."

"I will try, Théa." He promised softly, already moving to position himself nearer to the wound and turning to direct the healers to where they were needed elsewhere. Théadain could only watch as the man she loved set about trying to save her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Théadain (and Baldan), the aftermath of battle was never going to be easy...
> 
> Thanks for reading, it's been so heartwarming reading the comments I've received over the last few days, I know I've said it before but it honestly means so much to hear that people are enjoying the story! X


	45. Chapter 45

**_Chapter 45_ **

  
Theadain had no way of knowing how long she knelt there on the cold stone floor, quietly following the whispered instructions Aragorn gave her; to fetch water, more bandages, a needle and fine silk thread. At times he was so focused on his work that he would murmur to her in elvish, before recalling that she did not understand and repeating his words in the common tongue. When he had no tasks for her, she simply clutched Baldan's hand, holding it tightly in hers and murmuring soft comforts and demands that he was not to leave her, watching as Aragorn would occasionally move to lay his large hand over her friend's brow, his lips moving to form unheard words.

It felt as though hours had passed when Aragorn finally sat back, rubbing a weary hand over his face as he looked to her, seeing the expectant, hopeful expression that crossed the young woman's face; "The bleeding has stopped, Théa, I just hope we were fast enough." He whispered gently, watching as she swallowed thickly and nodded in understanding.

"He has a chance now." She breathed, glancing at her friend's face. He had slipped into unconsciousness some time ago, his breathing shallow but steady. It was his fight now; she knew there was no more that they could do. "Thank you, Aragorn." She whispered earnestly as he moved to her side, his hand settling between her shoulder blades to support her as she sat back.

"You said he had a wife?"

"Yes... I... I should fetch her, but she is carrying his child and I'm afraid seeing him like this would be too much of a shock..." She bit her lip, also afraid of having broken her promise to the woman to keep her husband safe.

"It might be best to send for her." He murmured gently, his hand moving to squeeze her shoulder gently as she nodded, "And you should rest, Théadain."

"No, not yet." She shook her head, glancing up at him pleadingly, "They need me still, they haven't opened the caves yet."

"Théa..."

"No." She insisted softly, carefully laying Baldan's hand at his side as she stood, "I'm alright." Casting one last glance at her friend, she moved to duck out from under the curtain, striding out through the chaotic healing quarters, aiming to reach the gates of the caves. She could hear Aragorn following her but ignored his persistent footfalls as she moved to where Gamling stood by the stairs, overseeing the corpses of the Uruk-hai being dragged from the fortress.

"We're preparing to let them out, my lady." He murmured, nodding in the direction of the caves as she paused at his side.

"Good... I need to speak with Hela."

"Is Baldan...?" The man trailed off reluctantly as she shook her head.

"No, he's alive. Just." She assured him, her eyes moving to Aragorn as he stood at her side. "I'll return to him once I've found his wife."

"Théadain, you must rest." Aragorn tried to insist, reaching for her arm as she stepped away, "You've been fighting, you'll be of no use if you exhaust yourself."

"So have you- so have the rest of these men!" She frowned, "Why should my rest take precedence over theirs?"

"You're hurt." He justified, nodding to the deep gash in her breastplate.

"It's nothing." She muttered, even as her hand moved to cover her ruined armour, not wanting to admit that her chest had been growing tighter and more painful in the time she had knelt at Baldan's side.

"Théa..."

" _No,_ Aragorn!" She cried, anger flaring in her at his disparaging tone, "I cannot rest until I know that everyone in this fortress is safe, they need led and I am the one they look to! I am their Marshal, and until a crown sits on your head I _outrank_ you- " She gritted her teeth as he recoiled at her words; "So you can either help me or get out of my way."

"I will not watch you work yourself to death." He growled softly; his gaze hard as he fought to manage his temper in the face of her defiance.

"Then you had best get back to the healing quarters, _Lord Aragorn."_ She spat venomously, turning on her heel to stride down the steps of the Hornburg, wincing internally as each footfall caused her chest to ache painfully.

She knew she had spoken too harshly, as she so often seemed to when it came to confronting him. She had done the same outside the Mines of Moria, and in Edoras, when they had decided to flee to Helm's Deep. She had never found it so difficult to control her temper around anyone else. Aragorn challenged her, perhaps in ways no one else dared to. She could cope with her decisions as a leader being questioned, she could overrule her pride on that front, but her decisions about _herself_? Who was he to demand that she rest? She knew better than anyone else what she needed, and right now she needed to help her people.

A tiny, niggling voice in the back of her mind chose that moment to quietly insist that it was because he worried about her, because he cared for her. That her anger stemmed from her own fear and guilt that she had made the wrong choices, that she hadn't done enough. She silenced it with a shake of her head as she approached the wooden doors that guarded the caves – she couldn't dwell on those thoughts now. The doors had been battered and hacked at during the battle, but they had stood firm, protecting those within. She could already hear the sounds of hundreds of voices beyond the door, clamouring to get out, to discover what had become of their husbands and sons.

"Open the doors." She called softly to the men that guarded them, taking a step back to scan the crowd that spilled forth as the great wooden portal was hefted open. She needed to find Hela, to bring the woman to her husband's side. The young Marshal was under no illusion, despite Aragorn's ministrations, Baldan was still very much in danger of slipping away from them.

"Théadain!" A familiar voice rang out over the crowd and she gasped as Éowyn threw her arms around her, grimacing as her body protested to the stab of pain that flared through her sternum.

"Ah- gentle- Éowyn..." She wheezed, returning the embrace despite her discomfort, smiling weakly as her cousin withdrew, her face painted with concern. "I'm alright, just a bit battered." She reassured her softly.

"What happened? It sounded so awful Théa, we could hear them trying to get in..."

"Later." She promised softly, laying her hand on her cousin's cheek, "There are things I must do first, then we can speak." She smiled tiredly as the younger woman nodded, "Éomer is here, go to him, he will be glad to see you." Softly she urged her cousin on, seeing the way her face lit up at the mention of her brother, a gentle hand at her back guiding her on with the crowd, towards the Hornburg.

It was as she turned back to the crowd, Théadain's eyes met a pair of wide, concerned blue ones. She watched as Hela stopped in her tracks, one hand cradling her stomach as she stared up at the Marshal, a wordless understanding passing between them as Théadain stepped forwards to offer her arm.

"Come Hela, he needs you."

*

She had lingered for as long as she was needed at Baldan's bedside, holding Hela tightly as she wept over her husband's unconscious form. Théa had encouraged her to talk to him, to let him hear her voice, hoping it would give him the strength to fight on. He had lost so much blood, his pallor was practically grey, yet his breathing seemed a little stronger than it had been an hour ago.

When Hela's sobs had quietened, Théadain had brought her a blanket, trying to make the woman as comfortable as possible by his side before drawing away, sensing she needed to be alone with him after the blonde had reassured her that she would send for her if there was any change, for better or for worse.

Once more finding herself seeking the clear air outside the keep, the young Marshal's weary feet carried her to the stone steps, where she allowed herself a moment to sit against a wall amidst the frantic sounds of people searching for loved ones, scrubbing her hands over her face to chase away the heaviness that had settled on her.

She knew she had to rest soon, evening was drawing in around the fortress, but she feared that the moment she closed her eyes she would be forced to relive the terror of the battle. As long as she was awake and moving, she could put it behind her, but she knew that left to its own devices, her mind would turn back to it.

It had impacted her more than she realised, the horror of battle. She thought she had seen it before, that she was hardened enough to endure this, but the siege had rocked her to her core. She had never witnessed such death, such despair. She had never felt so lost as she had done in the moments after the Deeping Wall had fallen, nor had she ever felt so certain that she would die as she had when they had ridden out of the gates.

She had hidden it well, but now as exhaustion threatened to claim her, her resolve was weakening. The wave of guilt that rose up within her was almost overwhelming. So many had died whilst she still lived, so many men of Rohan that had pledged oaths to follow their king, and so many that had taken no such oath, but stood regardless. Her guilt at the loss of so many elves was unspeakable. Galadriel had sent them to fulfil a promise to her, and in exchange she was sending so many bodies back to the Golden Wood, including Haldir's. Théadain had seen the Marchwarden's body laid out alongside his fallen kin in the Hornburg, his scarlet cloak still splendid even in the shadow of the hall. It had taken all of her strength to hold back a sound of anguish at the sight. She would not let herself crumble in front of her people though, she would hold herself together until she was alone.

"Long day?"

She glanced up as the sound of Éomer's voice interrupted her thoughts as he lowered himself to her side with a soft grunt.

"The longest." She smiled wryly, running one hand through her hair and grimacing at the tangles she found there, "Did Éowyn find you?"

"She did, she is with the king now." He nodded, resting his elbows on his knees, "He is resting, as should you."

"Don't start, Éomer. I have already fought with one man over that." She grumbled, mirroring his pose.

"So I have heard." He chuckled softly, smiling down at his cousin, having been unable to ignore the murmurs of the men who had seen her display of affection towards the Man of the North before the charge from the Hornburg, and then those who had witnessed her proceeding to unleash her wrath on him hours later. "Most of us know better."

"Good." She muttered, wearily moving to unfasten her armour as it prevented her from sitting comfortably. Éomer wordlessly reached to help her tug her breastplate over her head, not missing her wince as she raised her arms.

"You'll need this mended." He commented softly as he examined the gouge that cut clean through the reinforced leather.

"Hopefully I won't need it any time soon." She sighed, awkwardly tugging off her mail and laying it to the side as she rubbed a hand over her chest, feeling considerably lighter in just her grey shirt.

"We can hope." Her cousin murmured doubtfully, laying aside her ruined armour, "Though Saruman will need to answer for this."

"He will." She assured him softly, "Even if I have to see to it personally."

"You will not be alone." He reminded her, "I know you were, for a time, before your father recovered, but you are not now. You do not need to isolate yourself."

She only cast him a withering look at his words, continuing to rub her hand over her aching breastbone as a frantic-looking woman climbed the steps towards them, clutching a young child. "My Lord and Lady, please- my son, I cannot find him and no one can give me answers..."

Éomer watched as his cousin rose to her feet before the woman had even finished speaking, her exhaustion and pain laid aside as she moved to help her.

"He was sent to fight?" Théa guessed softly, wrapping a reassuring arm around the woman's shoulders as she nodded. The Third Marshal spared her cousin a regretful glance before answering, "All of those we have recovered are in the keep, though..." She glanced at the small girl in the woman's arms, her cheeks dirty but her eyes bright as she looked around herself curiously. She could not have been more than three. Envisioning the chaos of the healing quarters, and the choking sorrow in the hall where the dead men had been laid, she shook her head, "It is not for the eyes of a child, let me take her, I'll send a man to help you search for your son."

"Bless you, My Lady." The woman breathed, carefully placing the girl in the arms of the redheaded woman as Éomer rose to guide her into the keep. Carefully, Théadain adjusted her hold on the child, smiling reassuringly down at her as she balanced her on her hip.

"Hello little one." She cooed, pushing her fair curls back from her face as the child chewed on her own fist, "What's your name?"

"Lida..." The girl mumbled shyly around her fingers as she looked up at the Shieldmaiden.

"Well Lida, I'm sure you won't mind helping these people with me whilst we wait for your mama, will you?" Théadain smiled gently, ignoring her tired arm's ache of protest as she turned to answer the call of another woman that had appeared at her side.

As Aragorn strode from the keep to draw in a breath of the cool evening air, his eyes landed on Théadain as she stood below the steps. He frowned curiously as he watched her go between directing the people around her and speaking softly to the child balanced on her hip, wrapped tightly in one arm. It was a strangely conflicting image, the sight of the Marshall commanding the men around her to begin lighting the torches of the ruined fortress, even as she kept her expression schooled in a reassuring smile for the little girl. He felt a curious tug in his chest at the image of her with a child in her arms, watching as the little girl toyed with a curl of her fiery hair, the picture before him strangely warm and maternal. As her eyes lifted from the girl, meeting his, he could clearly see her expression turn apprehensive, as if she expected him to take up their earlier argument again.

Part of him had wanted to, after she had stormed away from him. Her temper was something he still could not learn to manage, and her scathing words had been enough to rile him, though as he had returned to assist with tending to the injured men, he had been able to reason with himself. She had been frightened for Baldan and shaken by the loss of so many of her men, he should have known she would lash out. He should have known by now that she could not process her emotions quietly, she had to remain active until she was ready to face them. It had been the same with Boromir, her brother; and if the state he found her in outside the fortress when he had returned from his fall was any indication, she had done the same when she had believed him dead. She had to throw herself into her work, to keep her mind occupied, and if anyone tried to dissuade her, that was when she would lash out.

"Give her time." The low murmur at his side made him turn to meet the level gaze of Éomer, the horseman granting him a nod of greeting before turning to where his cousin had been distracted by the question of a guard. "She'll come around."

"I know." The would-be king sighed, following the gaze of the man he already felt a sense of kinship with, "And I will be there when she does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two just can't see eye-to-eye!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! I know I say it a lot but it really means so much to hear from you lovely readers! X


	46. Chapter 46

_**Chapter 46** _

  
The city of Edoras rose up before Théadain like a beacon of hope of the horizon, six sunrises after the endless night that had been the Battle of Helm's Deep. She gripped Folca's reins a little tighter as he galloped, her heart lightening at the sight of her home, unspoilt by battle or siege. So much had come to pass since that night, the aftermath of the battle, their ride to Isengard, the confrontation with Saruman... It was a relief to think that now, even for just a moment, she could relax.

_In spite of all expectation, Baldan had lived through that first night after the siege. Théadain had sat with him as Hela slept, waiting and dreading the moment he would slip away from them, but he had endured, and by morning he had woken, even summoning the energy to crack a joke with his Marshal and cringe at his wife's fond scolding. It had been more than Théadain could have prayed for. When so much else had been taken from her, it seemed like just this once, fate had granted her a reprieve, and had not taken her dear friend from her side._

_It was then that she had finally allowed herself to rest, curled in a corner of the healing quarters where she had hoped she would not be disturbed. Indeed, she had not been, even when Legolas had spotted her and moved to drape his cloak over her sleeping form she had not stirred, not until night had once again fallen over the fortress. Refreshed, though still aching after her long sleep on the stone floor and utterly starving, she had scrounged a meagre meal from where the guards had begun to settle themselves and had let her feet carry her to sit once more on the steps of the keep._

_It was there that Aragorn had found her, quietly settling himself at her side and saying nothing as she finished chewing her mouthful of bread._

_"Are you waiting for an apology?" She murmured, casting the man a wary glance._

_"Perhaps." He hummed in reply, his voice level, not betraying any emotion as she sighed and laid aside her plate, resting her elbows on her knees and knotting her fingers together as she tried to put her thoughts in order._

_"I am sorry for how I spoke to you." She admitted after a moment, "Though I will not apologise for following my own will, and not doing as you asked. Just because I love you doesn't mean I have to agree with everything you say."_

_He looked to her in surprise at her words, not having expected her to repeat her expression of love so casually; "Nor do I have to agree with all that you say and do." He smiled fondly as she pushed her hair back from her eyes with one hand; "I shan't apologise for asking you to rest, though you understand that I grew frustrated because I love you too, and I don't want to see you hurt?"_

_Her expression softened at his words, moving to gently take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly, "I understand." She whispered, watching as he carefully entwined his fingers with hers. "I'm glad you still love me, even though I was an utter rat."_

_"You were." He chuckled, lifting their entwined hands to kiss her wrist affectionately as she laughed, "Though this is how my heart has settled, and I'm afraid now that you have admitted it too, it can never be undone."_

_She flushed a little at his earnest words, reminded uncomfortably of the moments when she had fought against those feelings. He needed - deserved - to know that it had not been his doing, that it had been her own insecurities that had come between them._

_"I'm sorry I pulled away, back in Edoras." She sighed, dropping her gaze to his hands, "I just thought... If I didn't let myself get close to you, if we remained merely friends, then I could somehow protect you... And myself. The thought of losing you was so terrifying, and then it actually happened..."_

_"I understand, T_ _héa." He breathed softly, squeezing her hand tightly, "It... It pained me to be without you, when you pulled away, but I let you. I did not want to drive you away further."_

_"I'm here now." She promised, "And I know what I feel - even if... If it frightens me. I love you, Aragorn, and nothing can change that."_

_The tender smile she received from him sent her heart racing, as they sat side by side on the stone steps, knowing he felt the same emotion. She could wait until they were alone to express her love more physically, for she knew that kissing him here in front of the entire fortress would bring up conversations she wasn't ready to have. She wasn't ready for the questioning that would come with revealing her attachment to this man, not when the future was so uncertain._

*

_With the next dawn, they had ridden for Isengard. Gandalf had been deep in consultation with the King for some time before the decision was made, and at first Théadain had declined to ride with them, insisting that she was still needed in the fortress. There was still so much to do, still so many men left to bury outside the walls of the Hornburg, and the injured to carry home. She had argued that it would not be her place, with Éomer returned, he was now the heir to her father's throne, her presence at Isengard would not be required. It was only when Éowyn had assured her cousin that she would be perfectly capable of leading the people back to Edoras, that Théadain relented._

_Her body still ached after the battle, and she had been grateful for the slow pace demanded by the fact that they had to ride through the thick forest that had appeared in order to reach Isengard. After a cursory check under her shirt, she was certain she was merely deeply bruised across her chest, though still when she drew in deep breaths, her sternum protested. It may not be as bad as a cracked bone, but it would still bother her for weeks._

_It took near two days of slow riding to reach Isengard, and as they had approached the outer limits of the wizard's land, warily keeping watch for any lingering Uruk-hai, Théadain had frowned as she heard the sounds of raucous laughter. As_ _they emerged from the trees, the source of the sound became clear, and she could not help but joyfully laugh aloud herself at the sight of the two Hobbits she had not seen since that fateful day in the woods at Amon Hen._

_They could not have looked more different now, lounging on a ruined wall, clutching tankards of ale and waving their pipes aloft as they greeted the riders. Indeed, it wasn't until Gimli began chastising them fondly for their apparent comfort that Pippin raised his head enough to notice Théadain, his eyes flying wide with realisation._

_"Théa- You're not dead!" He cried, scrambling down from the wall as she laughed and swung herself from Folca's saddle just in time to catch both Hobbits in a tight hug, wincing a little as they barrelled into her._

_"Not yet anyway." She reassured them with a wide smile, recalling that the last they saw of her, she had been struggling to protect Boromir from the hundreds of Uruks that had attacked them. It would have been fair of them to presume that she had fallen with the Gondorian. "I'm so glad you're both alright." She smiled as she straightened, "More than alright, by the looks of things."_

_"We're under orders from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard." Merry had announced proudly, gesturing towards the tall black tower that lay behind their wall._

Théadain shook her head as she recalled all that had followed her reunion with the Hobbits; the alarming discovery that the Ents of Fangorn were indeed real, followed by the chilling dialog between her father, Gandalf and Saruman. She had felt her blood run cold as the wizard atop the tower had prophesised a coming attack from Sauron, the sickening feeling that twisted her stomach only peaking as she witnessed the gruesome deaths of both Saruman and Grima.

In the moments before she had seen the wizard fall though, she had almost been wishing to do it herself. The way he had spoken of her father, of Rohan, of _Aragorn_... She could see it haunted them still. Her father doubted his strength, his ability as a leader. He felt he did not live up to the great deeds of his forbears and in his eyes the words of Saruman cemented that doubt. Aragorn had borne the wizard's insults more solemnly, hardly reacting to his words, but she could still see they played on his mind.

It was something they could confront at a later time. As the city on the hill drew closer, she spurred Folca on with an encouraging sound, a smile breaking over her face as she finally felt that she was returning to the home she remembered.

*

For the first time since she had returned to Rohan, Théadain finally let herself put her own comfort before anything else and called for hot water to be brought to her room for a bath. It was one of the few things she had truly longed for since leaving Rivendell, and once she was left alone in her room, sinking into the blissfully hot water, she felt that longing fulfilled.

Though so much around her had changed, and she herself had changed, this was one constant she could always look forward to. In the warmth of the bath, her aching muscles slowly relaxed, the dirt under her nails was washed away and her tangled hair was tamed and infused with the calming scent of the dried lavender sprinkled in the water.

There was to be a feast that evening, she had seen the preparations already in full swing as she had hurried through the hall to her chambers. Already a pig was roasting on a spit over the fire in the centre of the hall, and barrels of ale were being rolled into place alongside the great feasting tables.

There had not been such as celebration in the Golden Hall of Meduseld since the feast following the last hunt, near two years ago now. Théadain sighed and splashed a cupped handful of water over her face as her bruised chest tightened at the memory of her brother. Théodred had loved those evenings in the hall, even now she could picture his laughing face as he listened to the exaggerated stories of their comrades or he egged one on in a drinking contest.

He would not have wanted her to mourn him, not tonight. The best way to honour his memory would be to engage with the celebrations as joyfully as he would have.

As the water around her grew cold, she reluctantly rose from the copper tub, moving to wrap herself in the thick robe that hung over the foot of her bed, just as her door was softly knocked upon.

"Come in!" She called, carefully towelling her hair as Éowyn slipped into the room with a smile.

"This is a vast improvement on when I last saw you." The blonde joked as she moved to sit on the bed, laughing as Théadain tossed the damp towel at her playfully.

"I am glad to see you returned safely, cousin." She smiled as she flopped down beside her, "There was no trouble on the road?"

"None, it was a long journey, with so many injured, but we managed." Éowyn smiled reassuringly, "Even with Hela going into labour on the second night."

"She did?" Théa exclaimed, sitting up abruptly, "Is she alright?"

"She and their son did marvellously – Baldan was a wreck."

"I can imagine." Théadain puffed out a breath as she slumped back with a smile at the news, "And he is well, Baldan?"

"He has not been able to walk more than a few paces yet." Éowyn murmured, "And the journey tired him, but his strength is returning."

"I truly feared we would lose him." Théa sighed, her fingers anxiously curling in her hair, "If Aragorn had not helped him, we certainly would have."

"He saved more than a few men that day. From what I have heard he worked tirelessly with the healers after the battle."

The redheaded woman nodded, staring up at the ceiling above her, "I don't think he sees how truly _good_ he is." She sighed softly, "When I met him, he didn't think he was worthy of his lineage, he did not want to accept it... Though now I think he is beginning to, but he doubts himself."

"Having you by his side will give him strength, I'm sure." Éowyn smiled softly down at her cousin, laughing as she snorted and pulled a doubtful face.

"Éowyn I'm the _last_ person a king would want by his side – unless I'm leading his armies." She grumbled, sitting up and frowning thoughtfully. She had never actually considered what it meant for her, if all that lay before Aragorn came to pass, if he still wanted her to stand with him.

No, she had said it many times before, she would not be suited to the life of a queen. She had none of the grace or patience required, she lost her temper with the man she would be expected to follow at every turn, she was uncouth, headstrong, too passionate... All that and she would have to leave her homeland...

"Stop thinking of it." Éowyn scolded her cousin, seeing the faraway, concerned look in her eyes.

"M'not."

"You are. You almost look as though you are trying to talk yourself out of something." The blonde raised an accusing eyebrow.

"I..." Théadain sighed, shaking her head as her cousin's words sank in. Though the future frightened her, and some small, vulnerable part of her wanted to shy away from it, that fear was not worth casting aside all that she had in this moment.

Besides, that future may not even come to pass. There was no need to worry over it, not yet.

Sitting up, she smiled gratefully at the younger woman at her side; "I won't dwell on it tonight, not when we are to celebrate." Standing, she moved to wrinkle her nose at her appearance in the mottled mirror that hung on the wall, "Will you help me get ready?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a slight love-hate relationship with this chapter, I chose to glance over the events at Isengard because I couldn't see much opportunity for Théadain to interact there that wouldn't feel forced - hopefully it doesn't come across as choppy as it feels in my head! 
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying the story as we move in to the Return of the King! X


	47. Chapter 47

_**Chapter 47** _

  
It had been too long since Rohan's king had seen his hall so filled with life. The sombre tone of remembrance and mourning had given way to celebration, the contrast between life and death making the joys of the living all the more potent. The clamour of voices and grinding of benches against stone floor as people rose from their feast, the flicker and glow of the fire and candlelight, illuminating the banners of the Mark that hung from the walls, the scents of hearty food and free flowing ale. Yes, he thought, it had been too long since Edoras had been what it once was.

Longer still since he had seen his daughter smile so brightly. It was not an entirely carefree smile, this he knew, but as he had watched her move from the dais through the crowds that filled the Golden Hall of Meduseld, her step seemed lighter.

Théoden had never seen her look so like her mother. Indeed, when she had stepped into the hall clothed in the light, moss-green gown, he had almost had to look twice to assure himself that it was not Léadain's ghost that passed before him. Her fiery curls hung loose around her shoulders, only tamed by a few strands braided by her temple – undoubtably by Éowyn's hand – framing her laughing face as she stood with the two Hobbits they had recovered in Isengard, each clasping a mug of ale. These companions she had found, Halflings, wizards, elves, dwarves, men; they had changed her, he thought. She was not the same girl he remembered from the days before his mind had become thick with fog. He no longer saw her fighting to prove her worth, to show she was equal to the men she stood with and not supported by her bloodline. She had grown, she knew her worth and no longer felt the need to prove it, and it shone from her like a beacon. It showed in the way he had watched her since they had fled Edoras, commanding respect with nothing more than a quiet word, or a mere look. He could even not recall the last time he had seen her wear a dress, yet here she stood, no longer afraid that dressing differently from her men would impact how she was seen.

Perhaps it had something to do with the man whom he had seen catching her eye several times throughout the evening, exchanging little more than looks that made the king's lips quirk into a small smile. It was as if she was being careful not to be seen lingering with the Ranger whom his people had quickly accepted following the battle – as if she thought her father would forget he had seen her kiss him moments before they charged from the Hornburg.

The man in question, Aragorn, had been more subdued than his usual quiet character excused, the king thought. The words spoken by Saruman days ago still weighed upon those that had heard them. The promises of death and destruction were difficult to ignore, even in this bright, joyful hall. Théoden himself still felt the weight on his chest of the wizard's criticism; he felt it keenly, his failure of his people. Were it not for the efforts of his daughter and her companions, Rohan would have fallen under his command.

"You look as though you are a thousand miles away, father."

"Mmm?" He turned with a smile as his daughter appeared at his side, having spotted her father's faraway look and excused herself from speaking with Merry and Pippin, not without promising each a dance as the music had struck up in a far corner of the hall.

"You are allowed to celebrate your victory with your people." She reminded him with a soft smile, linking her arm through his as they stood and observed the hall, "It belongs to all of us."

"Even the King who almost cost his people everything?" He murmured softly, feeling her hand tighten on his arm.

"Even the King who endured the spell of a powerful wizard." She corrected him, "The King who returned with the strength to lead his people out of the darkness."

"I believe you may be thinking of a different king." Her father smiled sadly, pointedly glancing at where Aragorn stood some feet away, speaking with Éomer. "The one who truly led us to victory."

"Which do you speak of? The Heir to the Throne of Rohan or Gondor? Both stand before us."

"Both played a larger role than I." He chuckled, nudging his daughter for her smart remark. "Both are good men."

"And so is the man they follow." She reassured him softly, squeezing his arm, "I was raised by the strongest, kindest man I have ever known. Even when he lost his way, he was still loved by his family and his people. He still is."

Her father made a soft sound at her comment, looking down at her fondly as he slipped his arm from hers; "Go on, there is another man you should be standing with, not an old fool."

"I can't imagine what you mean." She rolled her eyes affectionately even as her cheeks coloured slightly.

"There is little time to enjoy being young and in love," He chuckled, moving to walk past her towards the crowds, "Take advantage of it whilst you can."

Théadain merely grumbled softly under her breath as she watched her father go to speak with Gamling, shaking her head as she moved to catch up another tankard of ale from where Folhelm was standing passing them out near a cask. She cast Aragorn a glance as she went, meeting his eye and smiling softly as she ducked under the arm of a man raising his tankard.

"Ready for a game, Théa?" Her friend grinned playfully as she took a cup from him, "If I recall correctly, I have some dignity to reclaim from a few years back."

"Folhelm, I don't believe you had much dignity to lose in the first place." She laughed as he slung his arm around her shoulders. "It would not be fair of me to take whatever you have left."

"Perhaps it's for the best." He chuckled, his eye turning to where two men were matching one another cup for cup at the table before them, "Baldan won't be able to scrape me up this time."

"No, let the man rest and be with his family." She grinned, though it was clear to see the younger man's relief that his mentor had survived his ordeal. A roar went up from the table and she laughed and clapped as one of the men was carried back from the table by his friends, leaving the other victorious.

"What's this then, lass?" The gruff tones of Gimli reached her over the clamour as he appeared at her elbow, nodding to the table where the game was taking place.

"Oh, I think you know exactly what this is, Master Dwarf." She grinned playfully as she sipped her ale, the several cups she had already drained making the world rosy and merry around her. "Though I don't think any of our men would dare take you on."

"Aye, good thing I've an opponent in mind." He chuckled, casting his eye around the hall as she smiled and shook her head.

"You had best fetch Éomer, I have not the experience to oversee a match involving a Dwarf." Folhelm laughed as he released her from his hold, waving her off in the direction of her cousin as she ducked and weaved around the revellers that filled every inch of the hall.

Holding her drink aloft, she spun to avoid a group of dancers with a joyful smile, trying to avoid the arms that attempted to snake around her waist to coax her into the dance and not to spill her ale over herself as she spotted Éomer still speaking with Aragorn across the room. Weaving her way to his side, her face flushed with the heat of the room, she wedged herself between the two men with a laugh.

"My dear cousin." She smiled, nodding in the direction of the drinking tables, "Your expertise is called for."

"And yours will not do, Théa?" He smiled fondly down at his younger cousin, not missing the way the man he had been speaking with brightened at her arrival. He slung his arm around her waist with a slight air of protectiveness as she took a mouthful of her ale. It was not that he did not approve of the clear attachment between his cousin and Isildur's Heir, in fact he could hardly think of a man he would approve of more, but old habits died hard. She would always be his little Théadain, whether she needed protecting or not.

"Not at all, this is a matter for our Second Marshal- our future king, I suppose." She smiled up at him affectionately as he bit his lip, nodding at the reminder that he had returned to Edoras to find himself next in line to the throne.

"Then I am afraid duty calls." He nodded to Aragorn with a low chuckle, releasing his cousin and nudging her towards him as he disappeared into the crowd.

Sweeping a strand of hair from her face, Théadain smiled up into Aragorn's warm gaze as it settled on her; "My Lord." She hummed playfully, nodding her head as she resisted the urge to press up onto her toes and plant a kiss on his lips. He looked distractingly handsome this evening, she noted as she sipped her ale, her eyes appreciatively taking in those strong forearms that were exposed by his rolled shirt sleeves.

"My lady." He chuckled softly over the noise of the hall, carefully slipping his arm around her waist to draw her a little closer, unaware of the way her heart thrilled at his touch. No one would notice how near they stood in this crowd, even with her hand settling on his chest to steady herself as she nestled into his side. "You look beautiful tonight." He murmured softly in her ear, stroking his hand over the light fabric at her waist, feeling the heat radiating from her body as she smiled and bit her lip.

"And you look too serious." She noted, raising an eyebrow at his lack of a tankard as she ignored his compliment, even as it made her pulse flutter girlishly.

"There is much on my mind." He admitted softly, glancing up at a cheer rose from the other side of the room.

"Can it not wait for one evening?" She murmured, looking up at him in concern.

"I will try." He promised her softly, looking down with a fond smile as Merry appeared at her elbow.

"I was promised a dance, Théadain." The Hobbit grinned, offering her his hand even as he raised an eyebrow at Aragorn's hand slipping from her hip.

"And a dance you shall have, Meriadoc."

Aragorn chuckled as he released the young woman from his hold – albeit reluctantly – watching as Merry grasped her hand and pulled her over to where the musicians had taken up seats by one of the great tables.

Théadain squeaked in surprise at the Hobbit's determined strength as he pulled her to the table, hopping up onto the bench so he was at a level height with her. Keeping a firm hold of his own tankard of ale, he bowed before taking her hand once more; "This way I won't step on your feet." He grinned.

"Nor I yours." She yelped in reply as he spun her using their entwined hands, descending into fits of laugher as they awkwardly tried to dance with one partner confined to a bench. Théadain dodged the liquid that sloshed from the Hobbit's cup as he danced, releasing his hand and giving a shout of surprise as another of the men caught her free fingers, spinning her into the fray of men and women taking up the familiar folkdance.

"You missed an excellent contest!" Folhelm's voice reached her ears as her friend linked arms with her as the dancers moved in a chaotic circle, no one quite remembering where to put their feet next but enjoying it nonetheless. "Your elf could drink us all under the table!"

"And still be able to shoot an orc in the dark a hundred feet away, I'm sure!" She shouted back with a grin, pulling him to duck through a tunnel of raised arms the dancers had formed, laughing as they reached the end and linked their fingers to join the formation.

"I won't be the one to test it." He grinned, releasing her fingers as the music faltered and took up a new tune. At the sound of voices joining the music, she turned to watch as Merry and Pippin started up a cheery song about their beloved Green Dragon Inn that they had often spoken of as they travelled together. Smiling fondly, she let Folhelm lead her to refill their cups, leaning against the great barrel of ale with a hum.

"Théodred would have loved this."

"He would have." Her friend agreed, pressing a fresh tankard into her hands. "He would have been glad to see you happy."

She nodded and took a mouthful of the dark brew, wrinkling her nose at how warm it had grown in the heat of the hall; "I wish... I wish I knew what he would tell me if he were here. There is so much I would ask him."

"He would tell you that you are on the right path, if he weren't roaring drunk." Folhelm smiled reassuringly, "Although he would probably wonder why you're talking with me and aren't devouring your handsome friend in a dark corner."

"You dog."

"I know." He grinned at her accusing glare, taking a hearty swig of his ale; "I'm sure your brother would be proud of you for not falling for _my_ charms- this fellow seems like a suitable runner up."

"Suitable for me, though I wonder if I am suitable for him." She hummed thoughtfully as she watched the Hobbits joyously stamping up and down the table they had clambered onto.

"That's a sober thought, for daylight hours." He scolded her, giving her back a light push; "Stop trying to see sense and go enjoy yourself."

"I'm already enjoying myself." She smiled gratefully at him, nodding a small farewell before letting the crowd carry her closer to the table that the Hobbits had only just hopped down from. Catching sight of Aragorn standing with Gandalf near one of the great pillars, she slipped to his side just as he glanced back to the wizard.

"What does your heart tell you?"

"That Frodo is alive..." Gandalf murmured after a long moment; "Yes, yes he is alive."

For a moment Théadain felt a pang of guilt pierce her; her thoughts had barely turned to Frodo and Sam in recent days, preoccupied as she had been with the survival of her own people. Gandalf's words reassured her though, and she smiled softly up at Aragorn.

"Worrying about Frodo will not make his path any safer." She reminded him quietly, "Let your mind rest for one night, Aragorn. These people are alive because of you, celebrate with them."

She smiled as Gandalf cast her a fond nod before stepping away, mumbling something about finding his pipe as he left her alone with Aragorn. She pressed her near-full tankard into his hand with a smile, "Relax, the world will not come down around our ears in one night."

"It may try." He smiled wryly, raising the cup to his lips regardless of the lingering sense of unease that followed him.

"Come, dance with me." She demanded playfully as the music struck up once more, taking his hand and tugging him to where the revelry was thickest in the centre of the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more cheerful chapter for today, hope you enjoyed it and don't forget to leave a comment! X


	48. Chapter 48

_**Chapter 48** _

  
Despite Aragorn's protests that he knew few dances, Théadain had managed to coerce him into following her own misplaced footsteps through the crowd. In truth, his eyes rarely dropped to follow her feet, but instead remained locked on her face as she laughed her way across the floor of the hall, occasionally distracted by those that called out to her. When she was summoned to oversee the occasional drinking game, he followed, his hand settling on her waist as he stood with her, simply watching the joyful way she interacted with her people. He marvelled at the way she seemed so at ease, the tension and grief she had carried throughout the last few weeks seemingly forgotten – or at least held at bay – under the warm glow of the torches that lit the hall.

Each touch he placed on her sent Théadain's heart racing, even as she tried her hardest to appear composed before her companions. The heat of his hand radiated through the fabric of her gown and it was all she could do not to turn and pounce on him like a cat after a string. It had been too long since she had been free to kiss him; they had not been truly alone since that evening before the battle, when they had so briefly been reunited before the world threatened to tear them apart once more.

She knew her own heart now, and she had even admitted those feelings to him, albeit in the heat of battle. They were no less potent now, as she looked up into his face in the warmly lit hall. She loved this man, so fiercely that she thought when she looked at him her heart might burst from her chest, and she took every chance she could to show him so in the subtle ways she could in the crowded hall. Brushing her fingertips over his bare forearms, pressing her body to his side as she moved to pass him in the chaotic space, offering him every smile that the mere sight of him pulled to her lips. Though each touch seemed to sear her skin and leave her wanting more, it was all she could grant herself, until they were alone at least.

Gradually though, the night seemed to be drawing to a quiet close. Men staggered or were carried from the soft glow of the hall, either to their own homes in the city below or to the quarters that had been prepared just off the great room. As Théadain handed the staggering form of one of her men over to his wife at the doorway, she stepped out into the cool night air, drawing in a deep breath as she watched her people mill away into the night, the sounds of slurred singing rising up from the city below.

"Everyone is happy tonight." She murmured with a smile as she felt a hand lightly touch her lower back.

"Are you happy, Théa?" Aragorn asked softly, looking down at her as she gazed out over the dark plains, her face illuminated by the braziers that burned by the steps to the hall. He had never asked her that, for there had been little opportunity for it in the time they had known each other. There was always some loss, some threat hanging over their heads. There still was though; even now, those threats still lingered, focused somewhere over the Eastern horizon, but for now the joy radiating from Edoras seemed to be holding that darkness at bay.

"In this moment?" She smiled as she glanced up at him, "I am home, surrounded by those I love, and though there is so much I should be frightened of, it seems a little further off tonight." She turned to smooth her hands over his chest, adjusting the open collar of his shirt where it had folded under itself a little; "And I have something I never expected nor sought, I have _you_ with me, Aragorn. So yes, I am happy."

He smiled fondly as he listened, his hand lifting to tenderly run his fingers through one of the braids at her temple that had come loose as she had danced. He untangled the soft copper strands, lightly running his fingers over her jaw as she leaned into his touch. Carefully, he tipped her chin up, leaning in to softly brush his lips over hers.

Théadain smiled into his lips at his careful kiss, pressing up onto her toes to kiss him in return, her hands finding his shoulders as she drew a little closer to his warm body, resisting the urge to pour all of her love and longing into the kiss here on the steps of her home. Her smile quickly turned into a giggle at the bawdy cheer that rose behind her as a few of her men stumbled from the hall, a blush rising on her cheeks as the men passed them by on their way home for the evening. It seemed she had been right to withhold the intense kiss she had longed for, she mused as Aragorn pulled her close, smothering his bemused chuckle in her hair.

"Come." She laughed softly taking his hand and tugging him gently back into the warmth of the hall – knowing they would get little peace stood outside the doors. Ducking through the doorway to the private quarters to the Eastern side of the hall, she pulled him close once more in the shadowed corridor, curling her arms around his neck as she kissed him eagerly.

He laughed softly into her lips at her enthusiasm, his hands finding her waist to pull her closer as he finally let himself give in to the longing he had kept under careful control, tugging her body to meet his; "We've been here before, Théa..."

As she lifted her eyes to meet his, a flicker of understanding passing between them as anticipation coiled in her stomach. Yes, they had been here before, locked in each other's arms in this very hallway, teetering on the edge of an act that, once committed, they could not come back from – yet it was so unlike that time. Her heart was not heavy now, indeed it seemed so light that its frantic flutters might well just carry it out of her chest.

This was not a desperate attempt to escape her pain, not this time. As she felt him study her with dark, questioning eyes, she answered his question by pressing onto her toes to kiss him soundly, purring at the deep rumble she pulled from his chest as his hands tightened on her waist, almost fisting in the fabric of her dress.

"You'd better not push me away this time..." She breathed in between the searing kisses he laid upon her lips, pressing her back to the wall in the darkness as she reached to bury her fingers in his hair.

"No..." The word that growled from his chest made her shiver with anticipation as she looked up into his eyes, dark with unrestrained desire that made her toes curl in her boots and heat pool in her stomach. Bracing one hand against the wall by her head – the other curling around her waist to lift her against him with ease – he leaned in to ghost his lips over hers; "And don't you dare say _'just this once'."_

* * *

A soft sound of protest left Théadain's lips as Aragorn shifted beside her, his hand stilling from where it had been stroking through her tousled curls as she lay with her head pillowed on his bare chest, tangled in the sheets of her bed.

"I thought you were asleep." He whispered apologetically, resuming his tender caress of her tresses as she basked in the heat that radiated from him, breathing in the heady, masculine scent of his skin.

"Why would I when this is better than a dream?" She hummed contentedly as his fingers wandered from the ends of her hair to trace lightly down the curve of her spine. The soft chuckle that rumbled through his chest made her smile as she shifted a little to reach for his free hand, tangling her fingers with his as she admired the way the light of the solitary flickering candle at her bedside danced over his skin. She could not have imagined the sense of peace she felt, laying curled around him, even as their bodies settled in the wake of their careful, loving exploration of one another. "You said something in elvish..." She hummed, recalling the words he had whispered breathlessly in her ear, clutching her tightly in the intoxicating, blissful moments that had followed their joining. She herself had been beyond words – save for breathless gasps of his name – since the moment he had discovered the other sounds he could pull from her once they were safely behind the closed door of her chambers.

" _Le melin_..." He murmured, his eyes following the way she stroked her fingers over his calloused fingers and scarred knuckles, marred by a life of fighting.

"What does it mean?" She whispered, shifting to look up into his face, smiling at the way he guided their entwined hands down to kiss over her fingertips.

"Can you not guess?" He hummed, those keen grey eyes flicking to meet hers as he trailed his lips over her wrist. His other hand moved to pull her body closer, grinning as she nestled into his side with a small, contented sound.

"I love you too." She whispered, laying a soft kiss on his shoulder.

He smiled adoringly down at the woman in his arms, tipping her chin up to lay a loving kiss on her lips, lingering there for a moment as he basked in how right, how safe it felt to lay with her curled around him. It was unlike anything he had felt before, yet the feeling settled on him comfortably, reassuringly – letting him know that it was alright that they had given in, that they had shared that perfectly intimate time together, making it all the more difficult to consider that the moment had to end... For end it must.

Had he gathered his nerve to ask her to spend her life with him, that night before the battle, perhaps he could stay, but formalities still stood. Despite the clear, unspoken devotion to one another, she was not his, and he was not hers – not by law. Not yet anyway.

He groaned regretfully into her lips at that thought as he pulled back reluctantly; "I should go, Théa..."

"Stay..." She pleaded softly, tightening her hold on him even as the same thoughts had been playing on her mind; "Dawn is a long way off..."

"And it would not do for me to be seen creeping from your chambers as the sun rises." He smiled regretfully, stroking his fingers over her cheek.

"Aragorn I'm a grown woman, not a giggling youth, I can't imagine my father will chase you from his hall if he finds you in my bed."

"Would you risk it?" He grinned playfully, kissing her once more before she could respond and slipping from the bed. She whined softly in protest as she snuggled into the warm spot he left behind, watching him admiringly as he gathered his discarded clothing. After he had finished securing his belt, he moved to kneel by her bedside, drawing her blankets over her bare shoulders; "Sleep, Théadain."

"I would rather sleep beside you." She mumbled, reaching for his hand even as her eyelids grew heavy.

"In time, Théa." He promised tenderly, already intending to speak with her father in the morning. Though he considered with a smile that the opinions of the king would have little sway over his headstrong daughter, he wanted to follow the appropriate steps before he asked for her hand. He laid a soft kiss on her knuckles before rising, blowing out the candle at her beside before silently slipping from her room. 

* * *

It seemed as though Théadain had only been asleep for mere moments before she was woken by the sound of a yell and raised voices. Instinctively, her hand reached under her pillow for her dagger before she recalled that she had been too distracted to place it there when she had initially tumbled into the bed. Silence followed the sounds, and she sat up warily, not needing to light her candle as the pale light of pre-dawn filtered into the room. Her breathing hitched as she heard voices in the hallway outside her door, speaking in hushed tones as they moved. She rose silently, groping for her robe where it hung over a chair and drawing it around her cold body as she padded to the door, her heart pounding in her chest as she risked opening the portal – and breathing a sigh of relief as she saw it was only Aragorn and Legolas standing in the hallway.

"Aragorn?" She murmured, rubbing her eyes tiredly with one hand as she leaned on her door; "What's happened?"

As he turned to look at her, the haunted look in his eyes startled her, making her frown as she moved to take his hands, they were deathly cold; "Aragorn?"

He said nothing as he caught her in a tight embrace, crushing her to his chest as he buried his face in her shoulder, leaving her to look to Legolas in confusion as she curled her arms around him.

"Let him rest, we can speak in the morning." The elf murmured softly, his eyes darting towards the room at the end of the hallway where she knew her companions had been given a place to sleep. She nodded, still bewildered by their behaviour as she carefully drew back from Aragorn's hold, gently bushing his hair from where it had fallen into his eyes. Those eyes that now seemed to look through her as she gently pulled him into the room. Something had happened, between him leaving her only a few hours ago and this moment, but she sensed he could not speak of it, not yet.

Carefully, she guided him to sit on the bed, kneeling to help him with his boots and belt; "Lay down." She whispered reassuringly, biting her lip as he shook his head and reached for her hand.

"No... I could not sleep now." He murmured, seeming to have returned to her a little as she rested her free hand on his knee. He reached to cup her cheek, running his thumb over her high cheekbone as he took in the fact that she was still there, still safe with him.

"What happened?" She whispered, reaching to cover his hand with hers.

"Sauron." He breathed the single word after a moment of trying to explain all that had occurred after he had left her, swallowing thickly as her face seemed to drain of all colour; "The Palantir. The seeing stone Gandalf took from Orthanc..."

"I thought it was safe? As long as no one used it?"

"Pippin." He shook his head in response to her frantic whisper; "I took it from him and I saw..." He sighed and shook his head once more, "My mind was filled with thoughts of _you_ Théa, and he... Sauron knows, he saw what you are to me and... I should have been stronger; I should have been able to shut him out."

"Aragorn..." She breathed, moving to cup his jaw even as her hand trembled with barely-concealed fear, "Whatever he saw, whatever he threatened, it's nothing. I'm here, we're safe here."

"I saw a battlefield. I saw you _die_ Théadain..."

"You saw a _threat_. An image meant to frighten you." She assured him, drawing on more strength than she knew she had, even as her stomach twisted at the thought of what he had seen. "Sauron is terrified of you, Aragorn, he will do all he can to unnerve you. Do not let him."

After a long moment, he nodded slowly, meeting her eyes once more; "He will try to kill you, Théa."

"He can _try_." She smiled wryly, rising to guide him to lay back on the bed and moving to settle by his side. "He will try to kill us all, Aragorn. We have to believe Frodo will succeed, and that we will overcome this."

He sighed, rolling onto his side to face her and clasping her hands within his, as if he could hold her in place; "You told me once how frightened you were of him, that night in Rivendell... I never wanted to put you in this danger, Théadain."

"I am still frightened." She admitted softly; "But I had nothing to hold on to then. There was no quest, nothing to make me feel like I could do something. Now I know we helped Frodo as far as we could, and we will do all we can to support him from afar." She bit her lip as she gazed into his eyes, "And I know you have found a strength you feared you did not have, that night."

He nodded a little, his hands tightening around hers at her words, "I am tired of hiding in the shadows. If I am set on a path that can change our fates in this war, then I am ready to follow it."

"Even if that path leads us to Gondor?"

"Even then, if you will stand by my side." He whispered, smiling softly as she nodded without hesitation.

"You could ask me to walk into Mordor at your side Aragorn, I would follow." She promised, lacing her fingers through his. Gently he pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin as he held her tightly, trying to chase away the lingering image in his mind of scarlet blood staining the earth, mingled with a flash of copper hair.

He could not allow her to be taken from him, he would not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, these two definitely needed a little romance after all they've been through!
> 
> I've been absolutely blown away by the amount of hits and lovely comments this story has received, it really means so much to hear from you readers! Thank you so much for all of your continued support! X


	49. Chapter 49

_**Chapter 49** _   


  
True to his word, Aragorn was unable to sleep after his glimpse into the Palantir and after hearing of what he had seen, nor was Théadain.

Still, despite his reservations earlier in the night, he stayed, holding her tightly in his arms as the first rays of the sun began to filter into her room. With the dawn she had risen to dress, blushing a little as his eyes had followed her. Somehow, watching her move around the room, completing her morning routines, laying aside her robe and selecting her clothing for the day seemed even more intimate than undressing her had been the night before.

He watched as she tugged a deep green tunic over her head, covering the bruises on her chest that remained from the battle, bruises that he had been careful to adorn with tender kisses as she had laid beneath him hours ago.

Catching his eye, she smiled softly as she adjusted her collar, admiring his dishevelled hair as he lay in her bed, still fully clothed but for his bare feet.

"Gandalf will want to speak with us." He murmured as he watched her pull on her breeches and boots, bracing one hand against the back of a wooden chair to balance herself. He sat up, reaching for his own boots where she had laid them aside in the night and tugging them on.

"Mmm..." She frowned, reaching to tug a comb through the chaotic tangle of her hair; "I had hoped we would have a little longer before this war caught up with us."

Though he could not help but smile as he watched her brow crease in frustration at the fight her hair was putting up as she twisted it into a tousled knot atop her head, his expression was tinged with sadness. Of course she deserved rest, a reprieve from the threat of destruction that hung over them, they all did, though it seemed they would have to battle on.

He watched as she strode to the door, hesitating with her hand on the wood, as if she had to contemplate stepping though. Rising to his feet, he moved to her side, tenderly brushing back one of the loose strands of hair that she had left framing her face; "What worries you?"

"I just... Wanted to stand here a moment longer." She smiled reassuringly up at him; "Once we leave this room, once others can see us, we can't be together like we are here."

"No." He agreed softly, drawing her into his arms and softly kissing her brow. She curled her arms around his waist and embraced him tightly. A small, regretful sigh passing her lips as she drank in the reassuring comfort his hold brought, committing it to memory before she pulled back with a reluctant smile.

"Come, it is time to play the Marshal once more." She murmured, straightening her shoulders as she stepped back to open the door, allowing him to walk ahead of her as they moved to the hall.

  


It was quiet, not wholly deserted, but the flurry of the day had not yet begun. Aragorn watched as Théadain instinctively moved to assist those that served the hall with laying out food on the tables, all evidence of the revelry of the night before long since cleared away. As she spoke quietly with them, standing over one of the tables as she cut a loaf of fresh bread into generous slices, he moved to toss another log onto the smouldering hearth in the centre of the hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a guard move from the door to go and apologetically interrupt the Third Marshal as she worked, a slice of bread now clenched between her teeth. He watched curiously as her face brightened, her hand clamping on the guard's shoulder in a gesture of thanks as she could not get a word past her hurried breakfast before she dashed to the doorway.

  


Bursting from the hall, Théadain dashed down the first flight of steps, resisting the urge to throw herself at the man who sat on the last step from the bottom, his hand resting on his side as he looked out at the sun rising over the distant hills.

"I know new fathers are inclined to look weary, but you look worse than most." She grinned playfully as she settled on the step beside the redheaded man, biting her lip and he cast her a wry look.

"I'd look worse if I'd stayed home a moment longer, Hela was threatening to finish the Uruk's work if I got under her feet again." Baldan smiled, reaching his free hand to clasp his Marshal's shoulder as he looked her up and down; "You look unusually bright-eyed this morning Théa." He smirked teasingly; "Whose bed did you leave your boots under last night?"

"My own." She bit back with a satisfied grin, even as a blush rose on her cheeks.

"Ah- whose boots joined them then?"

"Watch it soldier- or I'll make good on your wife's threat." She laughed, nudging his shoulder gently so as not to jostle his wound. Her expression softened a little as she caught sight of the stick laid at his side, clearly meant to support him as he began walking again. "I hadn't expected to see you moving around so soon."

"I wouldn't be moving at all were it not for you and him." He smiled gratefully at his friend, knowing he did not need to name the man that was still clearly in the forefront of his captain's mind.

"I did little." She admitted with a huff, reaching to tuck a wayward strand of her hair back into its knot; "It was Aragorn who saved you, not I."

"Regardless, you both have my thanks, and the thanks of my wife." He smiled fondly, reaching to lay a hand on her arm.

"Will you not come in? Tell him yourself?" She offered, nodding towards the hall.

"I wouldn't make it up the steps." He chuckled, nudging his stick with his foot; "Another time, Théa."

"There may not be another time." She murmured thoughtfully, setting her sights on the Eastern hills as the sun climbed higher, "His path will turn to Gondor, sooner than I had hoped."

"And will yours follow?"

She swallowed thickly and nodded, "For the time being, yes." She hummed, "Though I cannot say where it will end. Even if we survive this war, even if he wishes for me to remain with him..."

"You would have to chose between Aragorn and Rohan." Her friend finished for her, seeing the clear conflict in her tawny eyes as she sat on the steps of her home. It had been no secret that she had been loath to leave Rohan months ago, and now the prospect loomed once more.

She nodded, biting her lip; "It may not come to pass. After Helm's Deep, Sauron will do all he can to crush us. I won't torture myself with thoughts of a choice I may not have to make."

"Though we can only hope that you _will_ need to." Baldan chuckled, "I would quite prefer the World of Men to endure - for my son's sake, if not my own."

"Of course." She smiled fondly at his comment, "Have you named him?"

He hummed and nodded; "Baldred." He murmured, casting his eye over Théadain as she broke down the name in her mind, an expression of warmth crossing her features as she realised that in addition to the Rohirric convention of carrying on the name of the child's father, the second portion of his name was taken from her brother's.

"A strong name." She nodded in approval, even as her eyes misted a little with fond emotion, reaching for her friend's hand and squeezing it gently, letting him know how she appreciated how he had chosen to honour Théodred.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a light hand on her shoulder, though she did not need to raise her head to know that it was Legolas who sought her - no other being could have come down the steps so silently. She glanced up, seeing his expression turn somewhat regretful as he saw he was interrupting her discussion with Baldan, though she reassured him with a gentle smile.

"Gandalf has summoned us, Théa." The elf explained softly, seeing his friend nod in understanding.

Turning back to Baldan, she received an encouraging nudge to her shoulder. "Go on," The man smiled, "I'll sit here a while longer, give Hela time to miss me."

  


* * *

  


The tone of the hall was sombre as Gandalf recounted the events of the night before, though all but Théadain and her father were familiar with what had happened. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Merry had all been present when Sauron had made contact with Pippin through the Palantir in the dark hours of the night. Though Pippin had divulged all he had seen to Gandalf, it seemed that Aragorn had not spoken of his vision to any other than Théadain. She had felt his eyes dart to her as she had slipped through the great doors, the air of concern that weighed on the group not fully masking the way his lips had quirked at the sight of her, and the way her heart fluttered in her chest as she met his warm gaze.

The Shieldmaiden had fixed her own eyes on a log that smouldered in the great hearth as she stood with her hand lightly resting on Pippin's shoulder, having moved to the Hobbit's side upon entering the hall, knowing that she would only be distracted if she stood by Aragorn. The Halfling still seemed shaken, frightened by what he had seen, though the gravity of the situation still did not seem to have settled on him. She had squeezed his shoulder reassuringly as the wizard spoke, lifting her eyes from the cinders as he explained that Sauron's next attack would fall on Minas Tirith, her chest tightening at the thought.

Boromir's city, one that she had sworn to protect as the Gondorian had lain dying in her arms.

"Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still. Strength enough, perhaps, to challenge him. Sauron fears this." Gandalf explained, casting his eye between Aragorn and Théadain scrupulously before turning to her father; "He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of men.

"If the beacons of Gondor are lit Rohan must be ready for war."

Théadain did not even need to glance at her father to feel the way he bristled at Gandalf's words. Her own throat went dry at the prospect of asking her people to prepare for battle once more, her hand tightening momentarily on Pippin's shoulder at the thought of bringing more death and destruction to the already depleted ranks of the Rohirrim.

"Tell me, why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours?" Théoden frowned, watching as his daughter straightened and stepped forward, releasing her hold on the Hobbit, "What do we owe Gondor?"

Had she stood alone, had she never met Aragorn or Boromir, she would have asked the same question. It was safe to close ranks, to seek to protect their own people, rather than risk everything for the sake of others, but she knew this did not come down to Rohan and Gondor. One could not stand whilst the other fell.

"We must, father." She breathed softly, striding towards where he stood at the hearth, her eyes pleading even as she saw his close off defensively.

"Where was Gondor when we stood facing down the wrath of Saruman, Théadain?"

"Looking to their own boarders, I imagine, for they knew nothing of our plight!" She reasoned, even as she felt her tone waver from gentle to match his defensive one; "Did we send out riders? Did we call for aid? Light the beacons?" She gestured vaguely behind her in the direction of the door, to where their nearest beacon lay to the South.

"I will not risk the fall of Rohan, nor should you." Her father attempted to level his daughter with a look, though found her expression unwavering as he stared her down. It unsettled him, her near-defiance, the fire in her tawny eyes. He was unsure whether it reminded him more of her mother or himself. "Where is the Marshal that would not have questioned the decision of her King?"

"She stands before you, father - though not unquestioning. She is not a child anymore." She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, "Where is the King that taught her the importance of the old alliances- what of the Oath of Eorl? Would you discard the vow your forefather made to Gondor? _This vow shall descend to my heirs - let them keep it in faith unbroken._ "

The hall fell silent as Théadain drew in a breath, not having realised that she had spoken so passionately so as to leave her chest heaving with the effort of drawing in a lungful past her still bruised sternum. She had seen her father's stubborn expression falter at her reminder of the old oaths at the first king of Rohan had made, the oaths he had taught her and Théodred and had them recite throughout their childhood.

"I will go."

Her head jerked to the side at the sound of Aragorn's voice, breaking the tense silence that had settled between the king and his daughter.

"No." Gandalf moved to discourage him as Aragorn turned to the wizard.

"They must be warned!"

"They will be!"

Théadain did not hear what the wizard leaned in to murmur to Aragorn, though she did not see his grim expression of determination falter even as Gandalf turned away from him to address the room. "Understand this; things are now in motion that cannot be undone." He informed them, meeting Théadain's gaze meaningfully and inclining his head ever so slightly, as if he meant for her to see that she still had a role to play in this, before he turned to look at Pippin. "I ride for Minas Tirith and I won't be going alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, tensions are beginning to rise again, just when things were going so well for our couple!
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed reading, don't forget to drop me a comment to let me know what you think! X


	50. Chapter 50

**_Chapter 50_ **

  
In the flurry of activity that had preceded Gandalf and Pippin's flight from Edoras, the wizard had drawn Théadain aside outside the Golden Hall, out of earshot of her father.

"You know I would ride with you, to Minas Tirith?" She had murmured to the wizard, thinking that was what he intended to ask her.

"No Théadain, I need you here, for now." He insisted softly with a shake of his head, laying his hand on her arm; "If your father will not see sense, I need you to lead every man you can muster to Gondor."

She swallowed thickly and nodded, already knowing she was reluctantly prepared to betray her father's will if it meant giving the World of Men a fighting chance against the forces of Mordor, though she prayed it would not come to that. "He will relent, I am certain." She assured him softly, "It is an old animosity between him and Denethor, neither have seen eye to eye, not since before I was a child. He will be able to see past it, this is not about two men on their seats of power, this is about survival."

"Your father is a good man." The wizard reassured her with a gentle smile, "He simply fears for you, and for his people."

"I know." She sighed softly, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand as the other braced on her hip; "It is just difficult to reason with him when he is like this..."

"Give him time, Théadain. He is also reluctant to move towards Gondor as he fears that once there, you would not return."

She cast the wizard an uncertain look at his words, knowing he did not speak of her falling in battle, "That will depend on whether those in Gondor would wish me to remain, and if I choose to."

"Aragorn will need you before the end, Théadain." Gandalf murmured earnestly, "Though your paths may not entwine throughout all of this journey, he will still need you."

She nodded, biting her lip as she turned to cast her eye over the distant plains stretching Westward, in the direction of Minas Tirith; "I do not know what strength I can lend him, but I will do all I can." She vowed, "He knows I will follow wherever he leads."

Gandalf smiled fondly down at the young woman, clasping her shoulder affectionately, "Your heart is in the right place, Théadain, daughter of Théoden. Do not let your head tell you otherwise."

She only laughed softly and shook her head; "I hope you have more riddles for me when we meet again, my friend." She murmured, looking up as Merry hurried from the hall, flanked by Pippin. The wizard only smiled knowingly at her before turning to call the two Hobbits as he strode down the steps. Théadain hurried to catch Pippin before he followed, pulling him into a tight hug. Even now, his bewildered expression told her he did not fully understand what was happening, what chain of events had been sparked by his actions the night before.

"Be safe." She whispered, releasing him as Gandalf called for him to keep up, ushering him on with a gentle hand at his back as she straightened, watching from her place atop the steps as the wizard moved towards the stables.

The midmorning sun warmed her arms as she wrapped them around her body, a low sigh leaving her as she considered all that had changed since the night before. She had known they stood on the edge of another battle, now they knew where it would take place. The fate of her race would be decided outside the walls of Minas Tirith.

The members of the broken Fellowship were to be scattered once more, after they had only just found each other again. Now Merry and Pippin were to be separated, something she gathered from Merry's sombre expression as he marched from the hall had never occurred before. Gandalf would keep the Hobbit safe, she was sure of it, but it was also a blow to lose the wizard. His presence and leadership reassured her when he was near, he would have been a valuable ally when it came to marching upon Gondor.

In addition to the looming shadow of war and her divided companions, in the hours since they had returned to Edoras, she had bound herself to Aragorn – beyond her vow to follow him to Gondor, the act of inviting him into her bed the night before had created that further tie of intimacy between them, and she knew her heart was tied to his for as long as he wanted her. Perhaps longer still.

Not that he _should_ want her, she reminded herself. No amount of stolen kisses and whispers of love could change her blood. Gondor needed better than a bastard for a queen.

As if he had heard her thoughts, a warm hand found her lower back, the touch soothing her frantic mind as Aragorn moved to her side, saying nothing as he watched Gandalf and Pippin burst from the stables, astride the noble form of Shadowfax. Upon seeing Merry hurry after them, he dashed from her side after the Hobbit, casting her an apologetic look as he pursued him. She smiled fondly as she watched them climb one of the gate towers to watch the white horse gallop away, knowing Aragorn's presence would reassure the Hobbit, just as it had briefly reassured her. Those doubts would still plague her mind, but for now, she was certain he wanted her near.

* * *

The clash of steel on steel echoed off the wooden walls of the stable yard buildings as Théadain passed the sparring men, walking closely with Éomer as they spoke softly. It had not taken her long to seek him out an explain the coming storm they would face, and though he saw her father's reasoning, he agreed with her resolve to make for Gondor, should the call for aid come from Minas Tirith. They moved now to summon a few trusted men to ride to the Eastfold and more distant provinces of Rohan, to prepare those communities for the upcoming muster of the Rohirrim.

"If we gather at Dunharrow, I could reach those still in the Westfold and ready them." Théadain murmured softly as Éomer sent a few of his men to saddle their horses.

"You should not leave Edoras until we know the king's decision, not until the beacons are lit." Her cousin warned her as he turned back to her.

"I know." She nodded, a smile gracing her lips as she watched Éowyn ride into the stable yard astride her horse, returning from her morning ride, "Though it pains me to wait here and do nothing." Biting her lip, she strode forward to catch the reins of Éowyn's mare, Windfola, offering her hand to help her younger cousin dismount.

"Good ride?" Éomer smiled to his sister, raising an eyebrow at the sword she reached to unsheathe from her saddle.

"It is a fair morning." The blonde woman smiled as Théadain handed the mare over to a stable hand, watching as Eowyn's eye darted to where a few of Éomer's men were sparring. "Perfect for training."

"Not with the men." Éomer chastised her look pointedly, opening his mouth again as she turned to him to protest, before Théadain laid a hand on his arm.

"With me then." She assured him softly, knowing Éowyn's frustration well, from the days before her father had permitted her to train with the men. "Was I not just telling you how restless I was feeling?"

Éomer only made a soft sound of discontent, pursing his lips together as he took in the pleased smirks of his cousin and sister, before turning to walk into the stables.

"He is too protective." Éowyn murmured, weighing her sword in her hands, "Will you truly spar with me, Théa?"

"I must do something; I cannot go back to the hall and face my father yet." The redheaded woman huffed as she rolled up the sleeves of her tunic, turning to walk over to where the men were training in the sandy yard.

"He seemed tense when I left this morning." Éowyn commented softly, "Had you fought?"

"We disagreed." Théadain clarified with a sigh, selecting a sword that had been discarded on the ground and passing it between her hands. It did not have the comforting weight and balance of her own, but it would suffice. Turning to her cousin, she bounced on the balls of her feet, rolling her shoulders experimentally. It had been over a week since the battle at Helm's Deep, though her body still ached in places, her bruises turning delicate shades of green and yellow – never mind the other, gentler aches she felt after her night with Aragorn, the thought of which brought a light flush to her cheeks. With a nod to her cousin, she swung out a lazy first blow, intending to assess just how often Éowyn had been practicing and putting thoughts of grey eyes and wandering hands out of her mind.

She wasn't disappointed, each blow she laid was countered with a practiced block, concentration painting her cousin's features as she parried and struck a blow of her own against Théadain's sword.

"Don't think too much." She smiled playfully, even as she danced backwards to avoid a well-placed swipe, countering by pushing the blonde back with a knock to her blade.

" _Your_ mind is elsewhere, one of us has to think." Éowyn smiled accusingly at her cousin's distracted expression, "What did you and your father disagree over?"

"Riding to Gondor." The redhead muttered, meeting Éowyn's next blow and driving her sword downwards to meet the earth, "There is another battle coming, Éowyn, and he wants nothing to do with it."

As she let the younger woman step back, pushing her hair from her eyes and dusting off her skirts, Théadain caught sight of Aragorn watching them from the steps of the hall, his pipe cradled in his hand. Meeting her gaze, he smiled softly, before glancing back to the Southern hills, in the direction of the beacons.

"You will follow him, if he goes?"

The soft question from her cousin made her turn back, smiling softly as she nodded; "I will. I started this quest by his side, I will finish it there or die trying."

"All the more reason to practice then." Eowyn smiled teasingly as she lifted her sword once more.

* * *

Théadain estimated it would take Gandalf three, perhaps four days ride to reach Minas Tirith with Pippin. After that it would be reasonable to expect the city to react, to call for aid once the Steward, Denathor, was informed of the approaching risk, if he did not know of it already.

Those days crawled by slowly though, for all those left behind in Edoras. She could see Merry growing restless, following either herself or Éowyn around the city as they performed their duties. It was more interesting than sitting around the hall or staring out at the distant mountains with Aragorn.

The Third Marshal spent her days doing all she could to relieve the anxious energy that crackled beneath her skin, feeling like her body was already preparing for the adrenaline rush of battle. She had no great longing to witness that bloodshed again, she was not hungry for a fight as some men were, but she did long to take a stand. To step aside and allow Sauron to crush her people without a fight was never an option to be considered, and so she had already mentally readied herself for the next battle.

Her company too were readied, quietly informed in passing that their swords should be sharpened, any armour damaged at Helm's Deep should be mended, their horses well fed in preparation for a long ride. Théadain had appointed Folhelm her temporary second, whilst Baldan healed. It had taken little effort to help the redheaded man see that he could be of no use to her in Gondor if a muster was called, considering he did not even have the strength to mount a horse. Still, she could see it pained him to be left behind, even if she had requested that he oversee the running of the Golden Hall in her stead.

The subject of Gondor's upcoming fight had resulted in a cool wariness descending between Théadain and her father, one that she had not felt since he had expressed his reluctance to let her train as a rider when she was a teen, though she made attempts to mend it. Théoden had approached her on the third evening since Gandalf's departure, as she stood outside the hall with Baldan, his son Baldred cradled in her arms as her friend did not yet have the strength to stand and hold his own child at the same time. The king's gaze had softened at the sight of his daughter with a child in her arms, idly wondering if her mother would have looked the same, had Léadain lived long enough to hold their daughter.

"He looks a strong lad." He murmured to Baldan as the man leaned heavily on his stick, his face still drawn and pale, still recovering from his substantial blood loss.

"I think he'd best me in a fight right now, My Lord." The man chuckled even as he bobbed his head respectfully to his king, "He'll make a fine rider someday, I'm sure."

"We will have no need for riders if we do not win this war." Théadain hummed grimly as she rocked the sleeping babe gently, chancing a pointed glance at her father, "Nor will Gondor need soldiers."

"The soldiers of Gondor are not our concern, Théadain." The king said firmly, fixing his gaze on the distant horizon, "They have done little enough for us."

"I would have died long ago if it were not for a soldier of Gondor." She informed him gently, seeing him glance to her in surprise. She had not fully told her father all that had occurred since she had first left Rohan, preoccupied as they all had been with the threat of Saruman. "Boromir, Denathor's son... He took an arrow that was intended for me." She whispered, feeling Baldan stiffen a little at her side, though she kept her eyes trained on her father, "He died in my arms, and I swore to him that I would not let our race fall... You would be childless, were it not for a soldier of Gondor, and like you, Gondor's leader has lost a son."

She did not wish to cause her father pain with her gentle reminder of Théodred, only hoping to give him a sense of perspective, though as he turned to gaze over the distant hills once more, she feared she had made him draw away from her again. "Rohan and Gondor share more similarities than differences, they are our kin." She reminded him softly; "I would not ask my kin to face this doom alone."

She heard her father release a weary sigh beside her, shaking his head slightly before he turned to stride back into the hall, her heart sinking a little as she watched him go.

"Give him time, Théa." Baldan assured her softly, laying his hand on her shoulder, "He will make the right decision."

"That is the problem, my friend." She sighed restlessly, her eyes wandering from the doors of the hall to the Southern hills, picking out the dark smudge of the distant beacon atop a snow-capped peak, "I have a terrible feeling that we have no time." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we face the prospect of another battle, so it felt right to give Théadain a little more time with her family.
> 
> Hope you lovely readers enjoyed this chapter, there'll be plenty more Aragorn content in the next one! X


	51. Chapter 51

**_Chapter 51_ **

  
The sun rose on the fourth day since Gandalf and Pippin had departed from Edoras, rising above the bustling city on the hill until it settled at its apex in the Spring sky, and then began to sink again as the warm afternoon wore on. The clarity of the day only served to highlight the dark shape of the beacon nestled atop the Southern hills, almost taunting Aragorn as it resolutely remained unlit.

The dark-haired man scrubbed his hands over his face with a weary sigh as he sat, keeping his vigil outside the barn just beyond the Golden Hall of Meduseld that afforded the clearest view of the distant beacon. He knew he did not need to keep his eyes so fixed upon it, and yet he felt he must. The dark smudge amongst the snow on the hills represented so much – when it lit, it would be more than a call for aid from Gondor. It would be the signal that he must finally gather his strength and face the long shadow that had been cast over his life; his lineage, his birth right. He would have to ride for Gondor under his own name, no longer hiding behind the guises of Thorongil, or even Strider.

He did not fear the prospect as he once had, nor did he resist it the way he had done back in Rivendell, before they had set out on this quest. The months as a member of the Fellowship had drawn out a strength in him that he had not known he possessed – it had shown him he had strength beyond his forefathers, beyond Isildur. He had faced the trial of turning away the chance to claim the One Ring as his own, long ago atop Amon Hen. Since that day it had felt easier to fall into the roles before him; leading what was left of the fractured Fellowship, taking a place among the ranks of Rohan at the battle of the Hornberg, now waiting to lead those he could to Minas Tirith.

The steady presence of Théadain throughout those trials had done much to allay his self-doubt. She had always seemed so certain of him, so sure he would make the correct choices. Even now, she did not question his need to be apart from the bustle and tension of the Golden Hall, though he could tell when he did return to Meduseld to eat or rest, she missed him. He could feel it in the way her hand would find his shoulder as she leaned over him at a table, laying a plate before him. Her fingers would tighten ever-so-slightly, as if she longed to hold on to him, before she was called away by one of the many who looked to her for guidance. It took all his strength not to catch her hand in those moments, to pull her back into his arms and soothe away the worry that had clouded her face for so many days. He knew he should not though, not least because he could not trust himself not to give in to that desperate longing he felt each time his eyes settled on her, unable to forget the softness of her skin under his hands or the warmth of her body in his arms. It was a distraction they could not afford on the edge of battle.

He could not bring himself to distract her from helping her people either – she was needed here. He could see it clearly as he watched her moving around the city from his vantage point, almost always followed by at least one soldier, one of her cousins, a crowd of the children she had once trained, or even with Merry scurrying at her heels. If she was not accompanied then her arms were full, bringing armour or weaponry to the blacksmith, a saddle to the leatherworker, or often in recent days she carried Baldan's son in the crook of her arm during her more quiet tasks, giving the injured man and his exhausted wife a brief reprieve from the demands of raising a newborn. For the time being, Aragorn chose to ignore the curious tug he felt in his chest when he saw her carrying the child, or running laughingly around the stableyard when a group of children coaxed her from whatever task she was absorbed in. No, that was a thought for another time.

He could not however ignore the pang of guilt he felt at the thought of asking her to leave this, her home. He had never known the feeling of security, of being so needed in one place, having never fully settled since he was a child. Even in Rivendell, he had always known that the sanctuary of the elves was not truly _his_ , not as Edoras seemed to be a living, breathing part of Théadain. He knew she would follow him in battle, to Minas Tirith or even to the Black Gate of Mordor itself, but to ask her to remain with him? To leave the home she loved so dearly, the home she had only ever sought to return to from the very moment he met her?

Aragorn's eyes settled on her familiar form as she paced up the hill towards the hall, pursing his lips thoughtfully. In the months he had known and loved the young woman, he had come to realise that he could not picture himself following his path – the path of a king – without her by his side. It was selfish, he knew, but even if he were not destined to take the throne, were he merely a ranger and nothing more, he still could not visualise his life without her now. Truthfully, he did not think he could go on if he lost her, or if she chose not to follow him. He _needed_ her by his side.

Certain as he was that she loved him in return, he was less certain that she would be able to choose between a life with him – a life she had never expressed a desire for nor felt she deserved – or the life she had built for herself in Rohan. He could not bear the thought of the heartache she would feel when faced with that choice, but it stood before her, and he could not shield her from it. Should they survive the coming battle, should the world of men endure this darkness, _then_ he would face the prospect of asking her to stand by him.

* * *

The Third Marshal of Rohan clenched her jaw as she cast one last glance at the hills and distant beacon before turning to walk back to the hall, slinging her mended breastplate that she had just collected from the armourer over her shoulder. She had been unable to sleep the night before, tormented by thoughts of planning for battle as she lay on her back staring up at the ceiling of her darkened bedchamber. There still seemed so much that needed done, and yet at the same time it felt that she could do nothing until they received word that Minas Tirith was under attack.

Still her father had not resolved to fight with the Gondorians. She had spoken to him little since she had informed him of the oath she had made to Boromir, but the king had made no indication that he had changed his mind. She had hoped that if she could not get through to her father, Aragorn may have chosen to speak with him, but it felt as though she had barely seen Isildur's Heir since Gandalf had left, and so had no chance to ask it of him.

Now though, she could see him seated up by one of the barns near the hall, the one that offered the clearest view of the Southern hills and the beacon. She needn't have seen him there with her own eyes to guess his location, he had positioned himself there for several days, despite her passing advisory that there were men stationed with the express purpose of watching the beacon. She could hardly blame him for watching it himself, though. In the same way she channelled her anxiety and nerves into her constant planning and preparation, he seemed to harness his by quietly watching, waiting and thinking – though what he thought of she could hardly guess. Perhaps what awaited him in Gondor, should they survive the battle? His future as a king? Or possibly he thought of their scattered friends, Pippin and Gandalf, Frodo and Sam, those that had broken away from the Fellowship and now operated beyond his reach and help. All of those thoughts and more plagued Théadain's mind herself, it was not unreasonable to assume they also tortured Aragorn.

She did not realise that her feet had diverted her path from the hall in favour of moving towards the barn, drawn physically towards the man her thoughts so often returned to. She smiled softly in greeting to Aragorn as she approached him, tossing down her mended breastplate and settling herself on the step he sat on, leaving a careful distance between them. She had been right, four mornings ago, when she had said that things between them would not be the same once they stepped from her bedchamber and re-joined the world outside. She had barely been alone with him since, much less had the opportunity to touch him, to kiss him, never mind even suggest that they steal away back to her chambers. Though she could still feel that pull between them, that desperate tug in her chest that reappeared each time her thoughts turned to him, or she caught a glimpse of him, that same draw that urged her to reach out and curl her fingers around where his were clasped between his knees – though she did not.

A small, intrusive thought had been playing on her mind, growing ever louder as more time passed since that night they had shared together, though she had done her best to smother it, to ignore it and press on, distracting herself with an endless list of tasks.

She feared he regretted that night, that he was distancing himself from her in an attempt to erase what had passed between them. She feared he had realised he could not bind himself to her, despite what their hearts desired, he had finally realised that he could not fulfil his destiny with her at his side.

Though she told herself that the thought was nonsense, an irrational insecurity. He was simply distracted, preoccupied with thoughts of the looming battle, just as everyone else was. Yet a small, uncertain voice in her mind persisted.

"Théa?"

His soft call of her name cut through her thoughts, and she realised that she had been frowning intently down at where she had knotted her fingers in her lap, squeezing them together tightly. His large hand moved to cover hers, gently prying her fingers apart and soothing over where she had unconsciously picked at her nails. The warmth of his hand quieted those anxious thoughts that had once more made themselves known in her mind, chasing them away for the moment as he comfortingly circled his thumb over her palm.

"Tell me what worries you." He murmured gently, his keen grey eyes searching hers as she glanced up at him. The words danced on her tongue, questions she feared the answers to, questions she did not want him to think of, and so she bit them back.

"Everything worries me." She murmured truthfully, once she had secreted away her more specific fears; "The battle, my father, my people, Gondor... Frodo and Sam, Gandalf and Pippin..." She listed the anxieties she could bring herself to speak of, pulling her eyes away from his probing gaze as she looked back to the hills; "I know I have this... This _need_ to be in control, and all that lies before us now is out of my hands, I can control so little of it."

"You do not need to, Théadain." He soothed, moving his hand to slip under her hair and gently cup the back of her neck, his fingers pressing and rubbing in practiced circles that made her shoulders drop from where they had unconsciously risen towards her ears as she had spoken. A low hum escaped her throat at his touches, her eyes fluttering shut as he carefully worked the tension from her neck. "You do not need to walk with the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"You do." She murmured, a small measure of fond accusation in her tone as she opened one eye to look at him.

"I have more reason to than most." He chuckled gently, preventing whatever retort she had prepared from leaving her lips as he rolled his thumb over the join between her neck and shoulder, his jaw tensing at the soft sound that escaped her instead.

"Must you worry about it now, though?" She breathed, even as she leaned into his touches, "So much is uncertain..."

"I fear I must, Théa." He murmured, sliding his hand from her neck to curl around her far shoulder, drawing her in to nestle against his side, "Though you should not let my concerns weigh on _your_ mind."

She smiled softly as the distance between them closed, her body fitting against his as though they were made to slide together, like a saddle moulded to a horse's back. His mere presence at her side doing more to chase away her doubts about his feelings then words ever could. "You do know those concerns cannot belong to you alone, my love." She whispered, laying her head on his broad shoulder and breathing in the comforting scent of pipe smoke that clung to him, "I know you feel you are the only man facing this darkness, but you have the support of all the free world at your back, don't forget that."

He smiled softly down at her, trailing his fingers through the soft, copper curls of her hair as her words settled upon him; "As long as I have you at my back, I know I can face it, Théadain."

"Ah, but you don't." She smiled up at him playfully, "I am at your side, Aragorn, whether you like it or not, I will walk behind no man."

He chuckled softly as he tightened his hold on her, tipping her chin up to gaze into her tawny eyes that danced with her withheld laughter; "Then I feel twice the man I am without you." He whispered earnestly, sweeping his thumb over her freckled cheek at it coloured at his words, leaning in to carefully touch his lips to hers.

She pressed into his hold longingly, her hand drifting to cup his neck gently as he kissed her, letting her eyes fall shut as she lost herself to the deeply loving feeling of his lips on hers. Above them, the beacon remained resolutely unlit, but for that moment, it was far from the minds of both the Heir of Elendil and the Marshal of Rohan clutched in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, once again I'm blown away by the support for this story as we creep towards 2k hits!
> 
> I really hope you're still enjoying it, please do leave a comment if you are, it's so unbelievably encouraging to hear from you lovely readers! X


	52. Chapter 52

**_Chapter 52_ **

  
The day passed, and no word came. Edoras remained gripped by a tension so thick that Théadain swore she could feel herself breathing it in. Even her brief reprieve that afternoon, tucked in Aragorn's arms sharing whispers of reassurance and tender kisses could not chase away what waited for them beyond the sanctuary of time spent alone. Their embrace had been broken by a call of her name in the city below, a guard sent to find her for Éomer. Reluctantly she had pulled away from him, but not before he had tugged her close once more and kissed her so soundly her lips still tingled with the memory, never mind the way the beat of her heart quickened as she remembered his whispered promise of returning to her that night.

That thought had been determined to distract her throughout the evening, as she spent hours pouring over maps with Éomer in the Golden Hall, trying to determine the best approach to Minas Tirith. The memory of warm breath at her ear, the gentle scratch of stubble on her jaw clouded her thoughts, to the point where she finally excused herself to her room and called for water to be brought so she could bathe.

She had never been so easily distracted before, not by thoughts of a man or anything else. It bewildered her, the fact that she could hardly focus on her previously all-consuming thoughts of battle and planning. As she closed over her door to the world beyond and sank into the hot water, she mused that, were they not trapped in the clutches of war, would she not chastise herself for thinking of him? In times of peace she had never considered the thought of being in love, not seriously, but if she had done, would she allow herself to daydream? To linger on stolen moments with the man she loved and imagine those yet to come?

She could not imagine it, she had been so singularly focused on her role as a Marshal, she had never allowed herself the entertain thoughts of romance. Those rare occasions that she had given in to curiosity, she had always been disappointed, and fearful thoughts of leaving herself vulnerable to the whims of another were never far from her thoughts. No man had ever been worth the pain she had so often seen accompany love, nor that anxious worry in the days and weeks following a night of ale and the misguided desire for company as she waited to make sure she was not about to bring another bastard child into the world.

Yet Aragorn was worth it. She had already felt the pain of losing him, that day he had tumbled over the cliff edge during the battle with the wargs, and whilst the thought of losing him permanently stirred such a powerful wave of fear and panic within her, she could push it away. Loving him and being loved in return was worth enduring the fear of loss. The other worry had not even crossed her mind, in fact until that moment, idly staring up at the ceiling as she lay submerged in the water, she had not even considered the prospect that she could well be carrying his child.

Her throat tightened with panic momentarily, sitting up in the water as she frowned at the far wall of her room. It was possible - unlikely - highly so, now that she considered it... Yet still a possibility. As the thought settled on her, what surprised her most was that she didn't find the prospect as horrifying as she had always imagined. Yes, the thought of carrying a child frightened her as must as the prospect of reliving every battle she had ever endured – in fact she might _rather_ face all of those foes once more if it meant avoiding the ordeal that had claimed the lives of both her mother and stepmother, and countless other women throughout time. Yet, beyond that, the thought of _Aragorn's_ child...

It tugged at something within her heart, the sudden image of a child with those deep grey eyes, _his_ eyes, but she shook her head before she could linger on it. There was still so much uncertainty in the world, in her life, she could not even imagine throwing a child into the mix. No, even if the thought of a future with Aragorn warmed her heart so pleasantly, that was one thing she could not allow herself to dream of.

Sighing softly, she leaned back, plunging her head under the water and holding herself there for a moment, letting the muffled sound of water lapping against the tub wash away the thoughts she dared not linger on. After a moment, when her lungs began to ache with the need for air, she surfaced, scrubbing her hands over her face just as a soft knock sounded from her door. She smiled at the sound, knowing it was not as purposeful as the knock of a guard, or of any member of her family – it was gentle, almost conspiratorial.

"Speak friend and enter." She called out with a smile, sinking to her chin in the water as she eyed the door, grinning at the low chuckle she heard in answer. The door was pushed open a mere fraction and she could not help but grin at the expression Aragorn aimed her way as he slipped into the room, softly closing the door behind him and folding his arms as he leaned against it.

"Is 'friend' the only title you will give me, Théa?" He smiled teasingly as his eyes raked over her bare shoulders as she rose a little from the water, chuckling softly at the way she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"What title would you prefer?" She hummed playfully, tugging her eyes away from him as she feigned focusing intently on running a damp cloth over her arms; "My lord? My king?" A soft sound of fond exasperation from the doorway encouraged her to press further into the ridiculous; "Keeper of my heart?"

"Endurer of teasing?" He laughed affectionately as he crossed the room, kneeling beside the bath and prying the cloth from her hands; "Admirer of the most challenging woman in Middle Earth?"

"I like that one." She hummed happily as he rolled up his shirtsleeves and overtook her task of washing her arms and shoulders, guiding her to sit up a little as he ran the cloth over her skin. "Do I truly challenge you?"

"Every day." He murmured earnestly, carefully sweeping her damp hair over one shoulder so he could move to wash her back; "You challenge my sense, my control... At times my temper."

"Just as you challenge mine." She laughed, biting her lip as she tried to meet his eye over her shoulder and shivering as he traced his finger over a pale scar that crossed her right shoulder blade – a lingering memory from a particularly vicious attack on a patrol.

" _Your_ temper would have Sauron himself quaking in his tower, my love." Aragorn chuckled, laying a tender kiss on the back of her neck as he ran the cloth over her shoulders once more, grinning at the doubtful huff that left her lips even as she trembled at his touches.

"Best leave me at the Black Gate and be done with all of this nonsense, then." She purred, leaning back into his hands as he ran his fingers through her wet hair, untangling the few snags he found as her unruly curls fought to twist in whichever direction they wished.

He laughed softly at her words, gazing down at her peaceful expression as she let him touch her so freely. The world beyond this room seemed to matter so little, in this moment. Battle and war beckoned, and he knew it would come soon, but for one evening they could shut it all out – that much they could grant themselves.

Pressing a tender kiss to her temple, he reached for a towel to begin carefully drying her hair, admiring the way her copper strands turned to a near deep mahogany shade when saturated. Slowly he squeezed the water from her locks, knowing that it would take hours for her long hair to fully dry, after watching her during their travels often huddling by their fires in an attempt to speed up the process after she had slipped away to wash.

Satisfied with his work, he leaned in to brush his lips over her bare shoulder, chuckling as she squeaked and shivered at the touch, as if she had been lulled into a state of near sleep by his attentions to her hair. He did not doubt she was tired after rushing around the city all day. "Come, Théa..." He whispered softly in her ear as he rose to his feet, moving to lift her robe from where she had discarded it at the end of her bed.

He heard the sound of her rising from the water behind him, the gentle splash of droplets falling from her body back into the tub as she dried herself quickly before stepping out onto the cold stone floor. He held out the robe in offering to her, not turning as some deeply ingrained sense of chivalry prevented him from doing so, even despite all they had shared. The garment was tugged from his hand before his waist was circled by her toned arms, the unmistakable warmth of her body pressed to his back.

"I thought you were tired?" He smiled at the delicate brush of lips at his neck.

"Did I say as much?" She hummed innocently, her fingers blindly searching for the fastenings of his jerkin as she kissed over his jaw, pressing up onto her toes to reach.

"Théa..." He hummed, his head tilting unconsciously to allow her lips to wander freely over his neck, groaning softly in frustration as her warm presence vanished with a breath of laughter.

"But perhaps _you_ are tired, forgive me." She smiled cheekily as she danced past him, just out of reach of his fingers as he snatched for her waist with a chuckle, watching with a raised eyebrow as she tied her robe around herself and tumbled back onto her bed; "I do forget your age sometimes."

"Now you are _trying_ to challenge me."

"Oh I hope I am." She grinned, drawing her legs up to her chest as she sat up, her heart hammering against her ribs at the way his eyes darkened as he strode towards her, pausing with one knee on her bed.

"Which part of me?" He breathed, grinning as she shifted towards him, sitting up on her knees before him and ghosting her hands over his chest and shoulders; "My sense? My control? My temper?"

"Is it too much to ask for all three?" She whispered longingly, her arms curling around his neck as she lightly brushed her lips over his, shivering at the low groan that escaped his throat as his hands found her waist, gripping her firmly; "Just this once?"

* * *

The second sleepless night she had experienced in a row did not bother Théadain quite as much as the first had. Indeed, as she drifted around the Golden Hall the next morning in a daze of easy smiles, she thought the events of the night before had certainly been preferable to sleep – even if her body ached as much as it would after a day of sparring, it was a pleasant ache nonetheless.

Aragorn had reluctantly slipped away with the first light of dawn, leaving her to doze blissfully for an hour before the sunlight streaming in through her window had woken her once more, and she had risen to dress and go about the task of disposing of her bathwater from the night before. Emerging into the hall, she had found the tension just as palpable as before, but it was less crushing, not quite as stifling as it had been before her night of reprieve in Aragorn's arms. The memory of that desperate intimacy they had shared – that they had _needed_ to share amidst this uncertainty – wrapped around her like a blanket, shielding her temporarily from the doubt that lingered in the hall.

She could not see him anywhere in the hall as she helped Éowyn lay out their breakfast, though she could guess where he was even before the blonde woman supplied her with an answer, seeing her cousin's searching gaze.

"He is watching the beacon." Éowyn informed her softly, watching as Théadain nodded in understanding.

"I thought as much." She hummed, engrossed in carefully slicing the apple in her hand with a small knife and feeding herself each slice as it was cut.

"I saw him leaving your chambers this morning."

Éowyn glanced up at the choked sound Théadain made in response to her comment, a deep flush staining her cousin's cheeks as she glanced at her in alarm.

"You won't tell father, will you? Or even Éomer-"

"I won't." The younger woman assured her softly, "I just... Wanted to be sure you know what you are doing."

Théadain raised an eyebrow at her cousin, a small, mischievous smile playing on her lips, "You mean the mechanics of the act? I was under the impression I knew what I was doing in that aspect..."

" _Théa!_ " Éowyn breathed reproachfully, even as a blush crept to her own cheeks, "You know I mean... I just- has he asked you to wed him?"

The redhead frowned momentarily down at the apple in her hands, shaking her head, "No, not in so many words." She clarified softly, "There is an understanding, I suppose... We are in the midst of war, there is no time to think of such things."

"Just... Be careful, Théa." The blonde urged her softly, "I do not doubt that he has honourable intentions, but do not forget..."

"My own circumstances of birth?" Théadain raised an eyebrow as she sensed what her cousin was trying to put tactfully; "The irony of me potentially producing another king's bastard is not lost on me, Éowyn, but the chances of me living long enough to do so are slim."

"Théadain -"

Whatever Éowyn had been about to say was cut off by the doors of the hall crashing open.

"The beacons of Minas Tirith!"

Théadain scrambled around the table they stood by at the sound of Aragorn's frantic voice, her heart leaping into her throat as she watched him dash into the hall.

"The beacons are lit!"

His eyes briefly found her face as he pulled himself up just short of where her father stood over a table of maps with his advisors, turning to the king as he panted with the effort of his desperate sprint. "Gondor calls for aid."

There was a terrible, still moment then. Théadain could hear her heart beating in her ears as she looked to her father, watching him survey Aragorn as the hall fell silent. She felt Éowyn move to her side, her cousin's hand on her arm steadying her, stopping the Marshal from calling out to demand an answer from their king.

She did not need to wait long, for the briefest moment, Théoden's gaze flickered to his daughter's face, giving her a small, reassuring nod before he turned back to Aragorn.

"And Rohan will answer." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a few sparks flying to get those beacons burning!  
> (I'm sorry that was awful).
> 
> Thank you for reading and for leaving your lovely comments and kudos, as always!


	53. Chapter 53

**_Chapter 53_ **

  
"Assemble the army at Dunharrow- as many men as can be found. You have two days."

The voice of the king held firm as he instructed his Second and Third Marshals, looking to the faces of his nephew and daughter as they listened, both already clad in their armour with helms tucked under their arms, mirroring the readiness of their king. It had taken mere moments from his word that they would respond to the lighting of the beacons for the two Marshals to ready themselves. He reached to clasp both their shoulders, squeezing reassuringly.

"On the third, we ride for Gondor, and war."

"Go well, Father." Theadain breathed softly, clasping his shoulder in return, seeing his gaze soften at her words, "Thank you, for answering their call."

The king only nodded to his daughter, releasing her with a hint of reluctance; "Go now."

She turned with her cousin, hurrying with Éomer down the stone steps of the hall into the flurry of men and horses that had already materialised in the city below. The air was filled with the sounds of shouts, the clatter of spears and the stamp of hooves as the clear clang of a bell rang out over the city, summoning their riders.

"Sweep the Westfold, and as far towards the Gap of Rohan as you can." Éomer instructed his cousin as their horses were brought, "I will cover the Eastfold and send men as far into the Emnets as they can get, without running out of time."

"Pray that they heeded the calls we sent out already." Théadain breathed, grasping Folca's reins as Folhelm appeared at her side, already taking his duties as her second in command seriously. She turned to the younger man with a grateful smile, laying a hand on his arm in thanks, "I need you and nine others assembled – the rest of our company can ride with my father's."

"As you wish, My Lady." He nodded, turning to hurry for his own horse.

"Go well, Théadain." Éomer murmured to his cousin, "Leave yourself enough time to reach Dunharrow on the second day, the men will need rest before we ride out."

"I will." She assured him softly, clasping his hand in farewell as he offered it to her. "Have an ale waiting for me if you arrive first."

"Only if you do the same." He chuckled, releasing her hand before turning to stride into the stables. Drawing in a steadying breath, Théadain led Folca a short distance from the chaos of the stableyard, placing one foot in her stirrup to mount just as she heard a call of her name.

"Théadain!"

She turned at the sound of Aragorn's voice, a relieved smile breaking over her features as she saw him dashing between the riders to reach her. Returning both feet to the ground, she rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck and embracing him tightly. She had feared that she would have to leave before she could say goodbye to him, though she knew two days was little enough time to be apart, she still hated the thought of separating from him.

"Be safe, Théa." He breathed into her neck, reluctant to watch her go, yet knowing neither had a choice – she was duty bound to answer the call of a muster. Still, even though he knew she would safely remain within the lands of Rohan, the vision he had seen in the Palantir still haunted him, making him loath to part with her. He withdrew from her hold, gently cupping her pale cheek in his large hand; "Don't do anything reckless."

"Never." She promised with a tender smile, even as she longed to ask him to ride with her, but it was not his place. She needed men who knew these lands like the back of their hands if they were to make it to Dunharrow in time. "I have to go, Aragorn... Merry- Legolas and Gimli- look after them, won't you?"

He nodded, pulling her close to lay an urgent, desperate kiss on her lips, disregarding the looks of the riders that passed them. It was common enough knowledge now that the Third Marshal was irrevocably tied to the Man of the North, it did not matter that they were seen together now.

"I love you." She breathed tenderly into his lips, lightly touching her fingertips to his cheek, "Ride fast, I will be by your side by nightfall on the second day."

"Go." He breathed with a nod, catching her hand quickly as she turned to retrieve Folca; "I love you."

"I know." She smiled, squeezing his hand before rushing to her horse. He could only watch as she swung herself into her saddle, drawing up her reins as she cast him a final, reassuring glance before turning Folca, already calling out to her riders.

" _Rohirrim!_ " She called, smiling gratefully as Folhelm guided his horse to her side – Wyndrun, the swift little mare that had carried her home so many weeks ago. "With me! Ride now for the Westfold!"

Leading her ten riders from the city with a single banner of Rohan flying above them, she paused beyond the gate, looking back, taking in the view of her home. From the Golden Hall on the hilltop, down to the barrows beyond the city walls where her brother lay. Blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears as she pulled her eyes from the _simbelmynë_ blanketed mounds, she let out a shaking breath. She did not leave the Edoras of her youth, she realised. That place, that time, had ended long before she had first struck out for Rivendell. The Edoras she loved and remembered lay before a time of war, a distant memory where her brother's laughing face shone out and her father had never known the grip of Saruman on his mind. When her only thoughts had been of her role as a Marshal and serving her king, not of war, or fear, nor even of love. She could never recover that dream-like time, and so it made the parting a little easier as she turned Folca Westward, giving a final command to her riders as they set off at a hard gallop.

* * *

Two days, and one very long night the Third Marsal of Rohan spent combing the Western Riddermark with her men. At each settlement, they had found riders in varying states of readiness, all of which they directed on to Dunharrow. Even the ruined fortress of Helm's Deep was not spared, not a single remaining man was left on the walls by the time they had finished their brief rest in the hauntingly empty Hornburg before they had ridden out once more, passing the freshly-turned earth at the foot of the Deeping Wall where the fallen men of Rohan had been lain to rest. As the night faded into the second day, Theadain had led her company out in the direction of the Gap of Rohan, the road she had ridden with some of them so many months ago before they left her to follow her path to Rivendell. They managed to reach a few more villages by mid-morning and gather another few hundred riders before she had called for them to turn to Dunharrow. Night would be drawing close by the time they reached the settlement in the hills, and she had promised both Éomer and Aragorn that she would return in good time. By her reckoning, they had directed near a thousand riders towards the mountain refuge – she had to hope it would be enough.

They rode hard and reached the valley of the River Snowbourne just as the sun began to dip behind the hills, casting long shadows over the encampment that stretched before them. Tugging off her helmet to allow herself a better look and standing up in her stirrups as Folca slowed to a more restrained canter, she guessed there were near six, or even seven thousand riders spread across the open valley, including the hundred or so that rode behind her.

In all her life, she had never witnessed a full muster of the Rohirrim, and it was glorious. Banners of the East, West and Northern Riddermark flew proudly above white canvas tents, interspersed with the banners of Edoras, and all around she could see, hear and smell the presence of horses. Her heart thrilled at the sight of so many riders, and the hope they could bring to Gondor as she rode through the makeshift city of tents. As they went, riders they had met on their journey called out to them in greeting, receiving grateful nods and waves as they went.

"I had not imagined so many would come." Folhelm breathed as he rode at her side, looking around in awe.

"We have to hope it will be enough." She nodded, doubt ever gnawing at her mind. Had they gathered this number for the battle of Helm's Deep, their outcome would have been so different, but against the ranks of Mordor? She could not begin to imagine what they may face. "Come Folhelm, the men need rest." She murmured, turning to look to the winding path up the mountainside that would lead to the king's encampment. Urging Folca on, it took little time for them to reach the steep Stair of the Hold, the pathway lined with weathered stone Pukel men, carved by hands that worked long before the word 'Rohan' had ever been uttered. The pathway and encampment above had always unnerved Theadain when she had sought shelter there with her company. Perhaps it was the shadow the mountain cast over the valley, or perhaps it was the close proximity to the Dimholt Gate, the door under the mountain.

Théadain still remembered Elfhild's ghost stories well, it had been her favourite pastime, to wile away an evening with her stepmother, listening to her tales. The Paths of the Dead had been a particular favourite of the woman, who had sworn in earnest that every word she spoke of the Haunted Mountain to her husband's daughter was true. Though Théadain had been but a child at the time, she had never been allowed to forget those tales, as men so loved to tell them around a campfire when they were feeling brave in the dark watches of the night. Whispers of an army of ghosts, cursed to never rest until they fulfilled an oath, and the now infamous tale of her ancestor, the Prince Baldor who in a fit of hubris had vowed to traverse those paths, and was never seen again.

Though none ever spoke of those tales under the shadow of the mountain itself.

" _The dead awaken; for the hour is come for the oathbreakers..._ "

"My Lady?"

It was only at Folhelm's questioning call that she realised she had spoken, hesitating at the foot of the winding path as she had stared at the Pukel men, the snippet of the verse of prophecy Elfhild would recite with the story having surfaced in her mind. Shaking her head, she nudged Folca on, unsure if it had been herself or her horse that had hesitated.

Carefully they rode up the path, her morose thoughts of ghosts banished as the first call from a guard went up; "The Lady Théadain has returned!"

A small, tired smile crossed her lips as she clicked her tongue to hurry Folca on, leading her men up to the encampment just as the first fires were being lit to chase away the grey shadows. Dismounting amidst the rows of tents, she gratefully handed her horse over to a squire, patting his neck fondly; "See he is well fed, he won't have much time to rest." She murmured, turning to direct her men to where they could find food and rest of their own.

"As always, your timekeeping errs on the side of reckless, cousin."

With a soft laugh, she turned to meet Éomer's smile, taking the cup of ale he held out to her in offering; "I think another hundred men is worth a lost hour, don't you?"

"Perhaps." He smiled, watching as she drank thirstily and handed the cup back to him; "You had best see to your friends and your father, they have hardly stopped pacing since I arrived this afternoon."

With a nod and a soft word of thanks, she turned to follow his direction to the king's tent, easily identified by the banner flying from it. As she walked, she cast a wary glance at the path that ran through the centre of the camp, leading down to the great crevice in the mountain. The road that led to the Dimholt.

"Théadain!"

"Merry!" She smiled, tearing her gaze away as she caught the Hobbit in a tight embrace, bending to match his height and look him over with a laugh, "Goodness, armour? Do you join us tomorrow?"

"With any luck, my lady." He grinned, puffing out his chest with pride.

"Have you a helm?" She smiled as she tilted her head to examine his breastplate that looked to have been made for a child. Indeed, upon closer inspection she recognised it as Theodred's, from when he was a boy.

"Not yet- Lady Éowyn said something about finding one..." He frowned, looking about himself as if he would find one discarded on the ground, making her laugh softly.

"Go, find her." She smiled fondly, her hand on his shoulder guiding him as she straightened, sending him running off in the direction of the tents as her eyes fell on a familiar figure, striding towards her.

"Am I late?" She asked playfully as Aragorn stopped a few feet from her, as if he were drinking in her appearance and assuring himself that she truly stood before him.

"Only just." He grinned, a single step from each of them closing the gap between their bodies. Her smile widened as her lips found his, burying her hands in his hair as she kissed him as though they had been parted for weeks, and not mere days.

It was only the sound of a throat being cleared behind them that made her spring back from Aragorn's hold, her cheeks flushing deeply as she turned.

"Father." She choked with a sheepish smile, running her hand through her hair as she took in the sight of the king standing, arms folded across his chest in a stance that might look disapproving, if not for the amusement dancing in his eyes.

"You made it then, I see." Théoden raised an eyebrow at his daughter as she took a careful step away from the man she had been wrapped around moments ago.

"We gathered near a thousand men in total, by my count." She nodded, clearing her throat as she realised with an embarrassed huff that her voice was more than a touch breathy after the urgent, interrupted kiss.

"Good- perhaps I can overlook the manner of your return then." The king smiled fondly between his daughter and the Heir of Isildur that stood behind her – the man he had come to trust and value as both a friend and advisor. "Come, have something to eat, Théadain." He chuckled softly as his daughter hurried to his side, casting a wistful glance over her shoulder as Aragorn watched her go with a fond look.

Linking her arm through her father's, Théadain allowed herself to be led into his tent, groaning softly as he squeezed her arm gently and cast her a knowing look.

"Don't say anything, I beg you father."

"I shan't." He chuckled, "Not even that I am happy for you."

"Good- I couldn't bear it if you were." She smiled teasingly, standing on her toes to lightly peck his cheek as her father guided her to sit so they could share a meal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I really love the scenes at Dunharrow, I hope you enjoy reading about them too! X


	54. Chapter 54

**_Chapter 54_ **

  
The night drew in around the widespread camp of the Rohirrim, the air mild after the unseasonable heat of the Spring day, though a chilling breeze occasionally whistled from the Dimholt pass, spooking the horses and causing the men to shudder superstitiously.

In the dancing shadows by a well-stocked fire, Théadain snatched a few moments of sleep, sat upright on a log with her elbows braced on her knees and her head cradled in her hands. She had not the energy to pitch herself a tent, not with the knowledge that it would be pulled down in a few hours. Aragorn had offered her his, when he had moved to retire for the night, but she had refused. Sleep would not have come easy to her on the eve of battle, whereas he had looked deeply exhausted – that and she could not bring herself to test her father's acceptance of their courtship by risking being caught in Aragorn's tent.

Still, as the shadow of night had crept in, and her gaze had settled on the hypnotising flicker of the fire, sleep had come. Bewildering snatches of dreams danced through her mind as she drifted; a howling wind, a flickering fire, the whinny of a horse and the voice of her stepmother.

" _Over the land there lies a long shadow... The dead awaken; for the hour has come for the oathbreakers..."_

A mountain pass loomed before her, a dark pathway, and still the wind wailed past the rock walls.

_"_ _Who shall call them_ _from the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore."_

A figure walked the path ahead of her, shrouded in mist so that she could not see- and then fire sparked once more before her and they were gone.

" _From the North shall he come; need shall drive him... He shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead."_

A blade flashed in the darkness, and a great crash of fire jerked her from her fitful doze – for a moment she saw herself back in Helm's Deep, the echo of an explosion ringing in her ears, but as she came to her senses she could see that it was merely a log that had tumbled from the fire before her.

Scrubbing her hands over her face with a weary groan, she rose to kick it back amongst the smouldering embers, staring down at it for a long moment.

"The eve of battle and a haunted mountain does not an easy sleep make." She muttered wryly to herself, rubbing her hand over her jaw as Elfhild's voice continued to echo through her mind. Why she remembered the detailed verse of ghost stories from her childhood and not more important matters she could not understand, yet here she stood, haunted still.

"D'you ever rest, lass?"

The voice at her back made her start, even as she turned to smile at Gimli in welcome as he trudged to her side.

"I'll sleep when I'm cold beneath stone, my friend." She laughed softly as she scuffed at the ground with her boot, "Or when the battle is won – either way, sleep is out of my reach tonight."

"It slipped through my fingers too." He chuckled grimly, seating himself on the log she had occupied with a huff as she moved to join him. "I've never been so restless in the shadow of a mountain."

"It's an unsettling place." She agreed softly, her gaze turning thoughtful as it settled once more on the flames before them, "And even more unsettling times."

"We'll get there in time, lass." The dwarf assured her gently, guessing correctly that her thoughts had turned to the looming battle. "We'll get him there."

She smiled softly at her companion as she noted his choice of words; "I never guessed that this was where our path from Rivendell would lead us, Gimli." She bit her lip, bracing her elbows on her knees and lacing her fingers together, "I supposed I had _hoped_ that mine would return me to Rohan, but I could not see the way the fates of so many would be tied to that – nor could I see what my friends would endure for my sake." She glanced at him apologetically, "I never wished to thrust you and the others into a battle, much less two."

"It wasn't your doing, Théadain."

A soft voice above them drew her eyes upwards, and she smiled softly as Legolas settled himself across the fire from them.

"Wasn't it? Did you not follow the path I trod?"

"You never asked us to." The elf smiled reassuringly, "Nor did Aragorn, though his path has run alongside yours so closely."

"Can't rightly tell which path is which though." Gimli chuckled, earning himself a playful elbow in the side from the Shieldmaiden.

"We stand with you because it is right, Thea, not because we are following blindly." Legolas assured her softly, smiling as a little of the tension seemed to drop from her shoulders, "Still, we would not let either you or Aragorn face this alone."

"He will need you more than I." She smiled gratefully at the pair, "But I am glad you are here."

"Wouldn't want to be anywhere else, lass." Gimli smiled affectionately at the young woman.

Her expression warmed at his words, even as her eyes wandered around the camp beyond the secluded corner she had settled in. Not far from them, Éomer sat, finishing a meal with Gamling and watching the few men that still milled between the tents. Curiously, she watched as Merry dashed from a tent behind her cousin, closely followed by Éowyn. Her eyes followed the Hobbit as he practiced swiping his sword and blocking against an invisible foe as he went, her lips tugging into a fond smile as she recalled watching him spar with Boromir and Pippin in the foothills of the Misty Mountains.

"You know as little of war as that Hobbit."

She glanced back to Éomer as the sound of his voice reached her, frowning as she saw he had risen to approach Éowyn, his tone firm, defensive. "When the fear takes him, and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle take hold... Do you think he would stand and fight?" She watched as the man drew close to his sister, laying a hand on her shoulder, "He would flee. And he would be right to do so – war is the province of _men_ , Éowyn."

Théadain swallowed thickly as she saw the younger woman's shoulders tense from where she sat, her frustration clear even though she could not see her cousin's face. "Then why do you not say this to Théadain? Why have you never dissuaded her?"

"Théadain has had little regard for her own neck since the day she first grasped a sword." He growled softly, clearly unable to see the Third Marshal rising to her feet behind his sister, her gaze hardening; "Do not let yourself idolise that path, Éowyn, it will lead to your ruin."

It took all of her will not to march over an lay her fist on her cousin's chiselled jaw as she watched Éowyn turn and stride away from him, but she could not help but raise an eyebrow at the look of shock that flicked across his features as he saw that she had overheard his words, his expression swiftly turning regretful.

"Ruin?" Théadain murmured, crossing her arms over her chest as she stepped towards him; "Is that truly what you think of me, cousin?" Her eyes flashed with a cold distain as she looked up at him.

"I spoke too harshly." He breathed, steadying her as he laid his large hands on his cousin's shoulders. "She will not be discouraged, Théa- I exaggerated."

"Does she need discouraged?" She frowned, "She is skilled, and as brave and true as any man I would choose for my company."

"She is misguided- she sees only the promise of valour in battle, not the truth of it."

"Did we know the truth of it, before our first?" She reminded him gently, her features softening as she saw his words had only come from a place of fear for his sister.

He sighed, his hands dropping from her shoulders as he shook his head, reassured by her tone that he would not need to hold the younger woman back from deciding to swing a blow at him – he had learned to sense that danger the hard way, when he had overstepped the mark with his teasing in their youth.

"I could not bear to let her face that." He murmured.

"I know." She assured him gently, laying a hand on his chest reassuringly, letting him know that all was forgiven, "You will not have to."

At his answering nod she stepped back from him, urging him softly to go and take some rest as she turned to follow the route Éowyn had taken as she had stormed away from her brother.

Pushing back the canvas doorway of the younger woman's tent with one hand, Théadain braced her other on her hip and raised a curious eyebrow as she watched her cousin bustle around the tent, seemingly unaware that she was being watched.

"I never thought mail would suit you, but it will compliment your sword beautifully."

Éowyn turned sharply at the sound of Théa's voice, her eyes widening as she stood grasping the mail hauberk in her hands, an emerald green cloak bundled under her arm.

"Théadain..."

"Say nothing, Éowyn." She murmured, stepping into the tent and letting the fabric door fall closed behind her, lest anyone see her cousin clutching an armful of armour. "Say nothing, for you know if I was to _hear_ of you doing something reckless, I would be duty bound to report it."

Dutifully, Éowyn did not speak, though her mouth fell open slightly, as she watched Théadain move across the tent, bending to pick up the helmet the blonde woman thought she had hidden well beneath her bedding.

"Just as I would be duty bound to report you if I were to see your face amongst our ranks." The redheaded woman continued softly, critically turning the helm in her hands before deciding it would obscure the wearer's face enough. She glanced up at her cousin, offering her a soft smile as realisation began to dawn across the younger woman's face. "However, I am also bound to protect every rider in my company, though I hope that each rider knows and has carefully considered what they are preparing to face." She raised a meaningful eyebrow, shaking her head minutely as Éowyn opened her mouth to speak once more, to defend the choice she had apparently already made. "I _know_ each rider is desperately loyal to Rohan, to their people, but I do ask that they consider what they might be leaving behind. To consider that battle is not all glory and valour... But I know I have spoken of that to them before."

With a gentle, and admittedly proud smile, she walked to her cousin's side, pressing the helmet into her hands. She had been careful not to encourage her, to remain as impartial as she could, but she trusted that – naïve as she may be in some aspects – her cousin had not chosen this path blindly. She had the heart and skill of a warrior, and had circumstances been different, Théadain may have been riding at her side for years.

" _Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?"_ She murmured softly, moving to reassuringly touch her hand to her cousin's soft blonde hair as the younger woman smiled up at her.

"Thank you, Théadain." She whispered softly, shifting to embrace her cousin tightly as the elder of the two caught a glimpse of tears of emotion glistening in her companion's eyes.

"For what?" She smiled conspiratorially as she drew back, casting her cousin a small wink as she turned and ducked out of the tent.

* * *

Though she had kept watch during many long nights, both during her days with the Fellowship and long before on patrols with her company, Théadain felt she had sat through few nights as long as this.

Seated at the top of the Stair of the Hold, her eyes wandering over the encampment below the winding path, her mind paced restlessly. The night was curiously grey, illuminated by a bright moon in a clear sky, allowing her to view the tents below as clearly as she might have on a cloudy day. She had watched as a few small parties of latecomers had arrived as the night passed its midpoint and rolled towards morning – the riders from Snowbourne, and some stragglers from East Emnet. She knew Aragorn had still feared they would be vastly outnumbered, but she could not help but feel a swelling of pride for her people, pride that so many had answered her father's call.

Shifting restlessly on the rock she had perched on, her gaze dropped to the winding path below her, frowning as they latched on to movement on the road. Leaning forward, she glimpsed the three grey horses that were carefully making their way up the steep path, their riders cloaked in dark velvet.

"Who in Arda..." She frowned, rising to her feet as she did not see any markings that indicated they were inhabitants of the Mark. Stepping back as the three horses reached the apex of the path and stepped on to level ground, she looked up at them curiously, seeing the men that guarded the path glancing to her for guidance.

"Declare yourselves, friends." She called softly, unwilling to disturb the encampment around her as the hooded figures lifted their heads in her direction, "For I can see you are not men of Rohan."

"Indeed, though a woman of Rohan is a sight for sore eyes after the road we have endured." A hood was tossed back with the easy greeting, and her lips parted in shock at the grin she received.

" _Elladan_?" She breathed, rushing forward as the elf dismounted to catch her in his arms.

"My dear friend." He chuckled as she drew back to look at him in disbelief, turning as a light hand on her shoulder heralded the arrival of his twin brother.

"We had thought your mortal self would be abed." Elrohir smiled as she turned to hug him tightly in return.

"My mortal self is unable to rest – though now I am glad I could not." She smiled up at them both, "What brings you here? We sent no word as far as Rivendell, or did Gondor do so?"

"We come as companions to our father." Elladan informed her softly, nodding to the third rider who had remained astride his horse. Though he did not cast back his hood as his sons had done, she was able to glimpse the kind features of the high elf as he turned his head toward her.

"My Lord Elrond." She dropped her head quickly as a mark of respect before glancing back to him.

"Forgive the shrouded nature of our arrival, Théadain." Elrond smiled gently as she approached his horse, "But there are those I must speak with, and quickly."

"My father?" She guessed, receiving a small nod of confirmation, already turning to one of the guards that had flanked the pathway and calling for him to show the elf to the king's tent.

As his son's watched him go, she gestured for another guard to see that their horses were fed and watered as she drew the two brothers toward the nearest fire. "Will you share a drink with me, whilst our fathers hold court?" She smiled playfully as Elladan linked his arm through hers, smiling fondly down at her.

"Glady, dear Théadain." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our lovely boys are back as my gentle nod to the original Grey Company - but will Théadain follow them or remain with her people? 
> 
> Hope you are all still enjoying the story! X


	55. Chapter 55

_**Chapter 55** _

  
The hours of the night drew on, and though Théadain sat absorbed by her discussion with Elladan and Elrohir at the fireside, dawn was still some way off.

Though they could not clearly answer her questions as to why they had come, they were able to inform her of all that had passed in Rivendell since she had seen them last. Their sister Arwen had indeed taken the last ship to the Undying Lands, though had lingered in her beloved Middle Earth for as long as she dared, with war and darkness so near. The knowledge that her friend had sailed on from the shores of her homeland momentarily saddened Théadain, before she recalled that it had been what Arwen had desired for many years, long before the threat of Sauron entered the minds of the free peoples once more. She had not been driven away, she had gone seeking her own peace, and that thought brought peace to the Shieldmaiden also.

When she had been assured of her friend's safety, the twins pressed her for tales of her own adventures, tasking her with relaying her account of the Fellowship's journey following their departure from Rivendell. They listened intently to her recounts of the Mines of Moria, on to her regretful whisper of the fall of Boromir, before a hand landed on Elrohir's shoulder, and he glanced up to meet his father's gaze.

"It is time, my sons." Elrond murmured with an apologetic smile, watching as the two younger elves rose without hesitation, closely followed by the Third Marshal of Rohan; "Forgive us, Théadain, but our task is done, and it is not our place to linger here."

"Of course." She breathed softly, biting back her curious questions as to the nature of the elf-lord's task. Of course, she could not have presumed they would ride to battle with them. The elfin race had already lent them support during the Battle of Helm's Deep – nor could she offer them much in the way of hospitality or comfort, teetering on the edge of riding out as they were.

"I was glad to see your father returned to his full strength." Elrond smiled to her as their horses were brought, "I trust your time with the Fellowship was rewarding?"

She could not help the slight heat that sprang to her cheeks at his knowing smile, making it clear that he did not speak of her merely finding a cure for her father's torment.

"More than I could ever have anticipated." She nodded with a small smile, "Thank you for setting me on this path."

"Your path was already before you, child." He smiled kindly, laying a hand on her shoulder in farewell before he turned to mount his horse, "It still is, you cannot falter now."

"I won't." She promised softly, smiling as Elladan and Elrohir each moved to embrace her before mounting their horses. Her farewell caught in her throat as she looked up at the three elves, unsure if she would ever see them again, with the battle still lingering on the horizon.

"Go well, my friends." She managed after a moment, bowing her head respectfully.

 _"Na lû e-govaned vîn,_ Théadain, daughter of Théoden." Lord Elrond bade her farewell softly as he and his sons drew up their hoods once more and turned to the winding pathway that would lead them down from the mountain.

Her feet drew her to follow them for a few steps, before she settled in place, loosely wrapping her arms around her body as she watched them disappear from her sight. Pleasant and welcome as their visit had been, it had been strange, baffling even. She could not make sense of their reason for staying for so little time – had they brought information? Some detail that could help them in the coming battle, perhaps?

She was startled from her thoughts by a light hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see her father standing at her side, his own eyes fixed on the pathway the elves had disappeared down.

"Go to him, Théadain."

"Father?" She frowned in confusion at his statement, looking up to him as his eyes dropped to his daughter. She thought she detected a hint of sadness there, not for himself, she realised with a start, but for her.

"Quickly now," He urged softly, turning her back to the camp, "You still have time."

She looked back to him in bewilderment, before she saw that his gaze had turned to the mountain that loomed above them. In a crash of sudden understanding, she knew whom he spoke of.

_"Who shall call them_ _from the grey twilight, the forgotten people?_

_The heir of him to whom the oath they swore..."_

The line of verse, whispered to her by a memory of her stepmother, flashed across her mind, her throat tightening as she looked up at the mountain. Her feet pulled her towards it, breaking into a light jog as she followed that central path she had been so wary to cross hours ago, her eyes darting between the tents that flanked each side.

Under the shadow of a gnarled, wind-bent tree, she spotted him; dressed for travelling, his hands flying over Brego's saddle as he readied his horse, concealed by the tents around him. Softly she approached, her arms curling once more around her body as a feeling of vulnerability settled upon her.

"Is this how you would take your leave? Stealing away like a thief in the night, without a word of goodbye?"

At the sound of her near-whisper, Aragorn turned. The regret that painted his noble features was clear even under the shadow of the tree, his shoulders slumping as he reached out a hand to her, a soft murmur of her name crossing his lips as she carefully placed a hand in his.

"Why must you go?" She breathed, more than aware that her eyes were shining too brightly, her nose prickling with the tears that threatened to form in earnest. "We ride out at dawn- we _need_ you, _I_ need you- please..." Her words came unsteadily, her fingers tightening on his hand as she looked up into his conflicted, stormy eyes. For a moment dread gripped her, like an icy hand had closed around her heart, as her fear resurfaced – her fear that he had realised he could no longer stand by her, that he did not want her by his side.

And then he pulled her close, steadying her as she stumbled a little and soothing his free hand over her cheek as he gazed down at her.

"Not without a goodbye." He assured her softly, his thumb sweeping away a traitorous tear that had slipped from her glistening eye, "Though I had not found the courage to say it yet."

"Please stay..." She pleaded softly, leaning into his touch, "You don't have to go..."

"I must, Théa." He sighed, his fingers slipping into her hair as he cradled her head in his palm.

"I know where you are going." She choked softly, seeing confusion flickering across his features as he gazed down at her; "I know what you are seeking – _From the North shall he come; need shall drive him... He shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead."_ She swallowed thickly as she uttered the line of verse, watching as dismay clouded his expression, confirming her fears; "It is a ghost story, Aragorn – you cannot rely on a mere legend, not when those of flesh and blood need you by their side."

"Théa..." He soothed softly, releasing her hand to curl his arm around her waist, feeling her trembling ever so slightly as he held her; "You and I both know there is truth in the legends... I _must_ try."

"You will be killed!" She choked, reaching to grasp his bicep in an attempt to hold him to her, to prevent him leaving. "Aragorn I won't let you walk away just to die under some forsaken mountain! Is this why Elrond came? To send you on this fool's errand?"

He hushed her softly as her voice rose, reluctant to alert any others to his quest. Stroking his hand over her soft hair and carefully smoothing where the wind had mussed it, he nodded in response to her question. "It is, Théadain. He knows we are outnumbered, and that this is our only hope... I have to try; you have to let me protect you."

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Théadain gazed up into his eyes, seeing the conflict and pleading in his gaze. She knew he could not have made this choice lightly, he was no fool, yet still she burned with the desire to keep him close, to shelter him from the danger she knew lurked on his path.

"I don't want to lose you." She whispered brokenly, her eyes falling closed as he leaned in to touch his forehead to hers, intimately assuring her that she would not, that he would endure for her.

"Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?" He smiled tenderly down at her, feeling her fingers tighten on his arm as she shook her head, her cold nose lightly brushing his as she did so. "Then do not fear, my Théadain."

"Of all that I have faced with you, a mountain full of cursed spirits seems reasonable to fear." She smiled weakly as he held her close.

"I do not ask you to face this with me, Théa..." He breathed, drawing back a little as his brow furrowed.

"Nor can I." She assured him softly, though her voice was heavy with regret. "This is not my path... My place is with my people this time, Aragorn. I cannot leave them to face this alone." Carefully, she ran her hand from his arm to touch her fingers to his cheek; "If I could tear myself in two and remain by your side, I would."

He nodded slowly, leaning into the touch of her fingers as her words settled on him. "I will find you." He swore softly, his hand tightening on her waist, momentarily fearing that this meant she would _always_ choose her people.

"Good, don't let this be goodbye." She whispered, pressing onto her toes to kiss him softly, letting her lips linger on his for a brief moment before withdrawing, "I could not bear that." Her throat tightened as she realised she had unknowingly echoed some of the last words her brother had spoken to her.

"No, not goodbye." He assured her tenderly, loosening his hold on her for a moment. She watched curiously as he moved to catch his left hand in his right, her breath hitching as she saw what he was doing.

"Aragorn..."

Tenderly, he reached for her hand and gently pressed the small, warm object he had slipped from his own hand into it. "You know what it means, Théa, what you must consider... Answer me when I return, when you are next in my arms."

Swallowing thickly, Théadain curled her fingers tightly around the Ring of Barahir, her heart thudding at the weight of his words. Silently she nodded, knowing on impulse that if he had truly asked her, in that moment, she would agree without hesitation. But he was right, there was still so much to consider, it was not as simple as following one's heart.

Tears misted in her eyes as she looked up at him, a thought crossing her mind even as it swam with confusion; "Won't you need it? To prove your lineage?"

He smiled softly, glancing back at his saddle; "Lord Elrond did not only come to set me on this path."

A quiet gasp left her lips as her eyes landed on the sword strapped to his saddle, the familiar, distinctive hilt shining in the darkness. She had seen him hold it once before, in a darkened room in Rivendell, at a time when he had been so uncertain, so reluctant to face his heritage.

He was not uncertain now; she could feel it. His acceptance of the sword assured her of that.

" _Narsil_?" She breathed, her fingers squeezing the ring in her hand ever tighter.

" _Andúril._ " He corrected her gently, smiling at the understanding that crossed her face, "Reforged, renamed for a new wielder."

"For a new king." She whispered, glancing back to him as a glimmer of pride danced in her eyes. A small smile crossed his lips as he drew her close once more, looking down at where her hands clutched the ring.

"I will find you." He promised once more, "Stay safe, my Theádain. You are strong enough to endure this darkness."

She nodded silently as she pressed into his arms, threading her own around his neck to embrace him tightly. She did not feel strong, not in that moment, when she knew she had so little time before he pulled away from her.

"I love you." She whispered tenderly into his neck, drawing back slightly to kiss him adoringly, hoping he would feel every ounce of love and devotion she poured into the touch of her lips to his.

With a small sound of regret, he pulled away a moment later, cupping her cheek in his large hand. " _Le melin._ " He whispered earnestly, managing what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he stepped back to reach for Brego's reins. Silently, he offered her his hand, smiling as she took it gratefully, unwilling to leave his side just yet.

He led her quietly through the encampment, not wishing to draw attention to his departure as he set his sights on the pathway that led through the mountain.

"Just where do you think you're off to?"

Théadain turned at the voice behind them, smiling softly as she watched Gimli rise to his feet from his perch beside the fire.

"Not this time. This time you must stay Gimli." Aragorn protested softly, shaking his head even as the dwarf made a doubtful sound.

"Have you learnt nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?"

The soft tones of Legolas' voice reassured her beyond measure, more so as she saw him leading Arod, his horse to Aragorn's side.

"You might as well accept it." Gimli hummed as Aragorn smiled wryly down at the dwarf, "We're going with you laddie."

"Thank you." Théadain breathed softly, her heart swelling as she reached to lay a grateful hand on Legolas' shoulder, knowing her friends would not let Aragorn come to harm.

Silently, she watched as the three companions mounted, anxiously turning the Ring of Barahir in her fingers as she stepped away from them. She did not miss the adoring smile Aragorn cast her as he watched her toying with the ring, a blush rising to her cheeks in spite of the dread that coiled in her stomach. As he nudged Brego towards her, he bent low in the saddle to cup her cheek, drawing her face up to lay a searing kiss on her lips.

With a small, breathless smile she returned it, before a pointed throat-clearing from Gimli made her withdraw with a sound of regret.

"Don't be late." She breathed softly, stepping back as Aragorn nodded earnestly, turning Brego and wordlessly signalling to his companions as the three riders began to make their way towards the mountain.

She stood there, the ring he had pressed into her hand clutched tightly in her fingers, the sounds of men calling out and questioning the departure of the three washing over her as she watched the last glimpses of the man she loved disappearing into the darkness beyond. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so our lovers are separated once more, and with plenty to think about before they are reunited...
> 
> Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, as always! X


	56. Chapter 56

**_Chapter 56_ **

  
Warm and bright, the first rays of the sun bathed the encampment of the king in a fiery glow, illuminating the figure of the Third Marshal as she sat amidst the tents, turning a small object over and over in her fingers.

Experimentally, she slipped the ring on to the third finger of her left hand, smiling wryly as it naturally fell straight to the base of her finger and swung loosely, almost comically oversized – the weighty design of two serpents entwined around a single emerald pulling it to one side. Still, she twisted it around and held it in place, trying to imagine how it might look fitted there more permanently – and what that might mean.

In every way, save for actually voicing the question, he had asked her to spend her life with him. To be his _queen_. That first thought made her heart thrill, the idea of a future with the man she was so utterly devoted to – the second part caused a little more apprehension. She still did not believe she was the right choice to hold a position like that, even if he thought as much.

Still - battle loomed, and Aragorn had disappeared into the depths of a cursed mountain. The future may not be something she needed to consider.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a warm hand landing on her shoulder, looking up from her absent fidgeting with the ring as her father smiled gently down at her. Rising, she returned his smile, though hers lacked strength, troubled as she was by her thoughts.

"He asked you?"

She blushed a little at the king's smile, her fingers uncurling to show him the ring. "In a way, yes."

"He asked for my blessing, before he left." He chuckled softly, looking down at his daughter fondly as her eyes widened in surprise, "I gave it to him, of course, but I did warn him that it would hold little sway over my daughter."

"It holds more than you know, father." She assured him softly with a smile, leaning into his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders affectionately.

"You agreed then?"

She shook her head with a quiet laugh, "He would not let me, I am to answer when – if we meet again."

"Though you will agree?" He guessed, frowning as he saw her mouth twist uncertainly.

"If I do, it will mean leaving Rohan..." She whispered, glancing at where the men were beginning to mill around the encampment. "I will have to abandon my post; I could not keep my role as Marshal..."

"Perhaps we will have no need for Marshals in times of true peace." He smiled fondly down at her; "And Rohan will endure, with or without either of us."

She bit her lip at his words, glancing up at him, "You think the battle will go ill?"

"I fear it." He murmured honestly, squeezing her shoulder gently. "I suppose there would be no use in me asking you-"

"Not to go?" She interrupted him with a small smile, seeing him mirror the expression as he realised that she had seen through him, "No father, there would be no use. My place is at your side."

The king nodded, glancing up to track the rising light of the sun across the sky; "I thought as much." He hummed, "You remind me more of your mother every day... She would have been so proud of you." His voice hitched as she looked up at him in surprise. He had so rarely spoken of her mother, that now his words made her chest tighten with emotion. "She would have made a great queen, just as you will – though not of Rohan."

"Father..." She breathed, hearing the emotional waver in his voice as he spoke, but he silenced her protests with a small shake of his head.

"I never told you..." He sighed, fixing his misting eyes on the distant hills, "Before she died, she woke – only for a few moments. She saw you in my arms." He tightened his hold on his daughter, drawing in a deep breath, "And she spoke. She told me; ' _She will be glorious, if you let her._ ' And then..." He shook his head again, dispelling his thoughts of the moment his first love had left him. "That is why I could never stand in your way, Théadain. Why I could deny you nothing your heart desired... And she was right."

Hurriedly, the Shieldmaiden swiped away the tear that had fallen onto her cheek as she listened, swallowing thickly against the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her as her father drew in a breath to steady himself. For a moment, frustration had flared in her chest as she found he had kept this precious memory of her mother from her, but it eased as she considered the pain it seemed to cause him to speak of it. The memory had been his alone, something precious, and she could understand why he had kept it safe all these years. Now all she felt was that lingering regret that she had never known the woman who had brought her into the world.

"Lord Elrond told me of your time in Rivendell." He informed her softly, his voice breaking through her thoughts, "He told me of how tirelessly you sought to cure me, and of how brave you were to join the quest he set." Carefully reaching to wipe away a tear his daughter had missed, he smiled softly, "Knowing that, and seeing how fiercely you have protected our people? I have never been more proud of my daughter. You deserve your happiness, Théadain. If we live to see these days renewed, I want you to choose the path that will bring you joy."

Wordlessly, the young woman nodded, knowing that if she tried to force a word past the lump in her throat, there was every chance a sob would come instead. Swiftly, she moved to embrace her father, releasing a shuddering breath as she reined in the overwhelming tide of emotion that washed over her at his words. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her, holding his daughter tightly as he looked out at the sunrise over his army.

* * *

"Move out!"

The call of the king rang clear over the encampment as his Third Marshal swung herself into her saddle, taking a moment to adjust her armour at the shoulders before placing her helm over her head and settling her broad, circular shield on her saddle, emblazoned with the golden sun of the Mark. Around her neck she had foregone the emerald cloak of her people, instead choosing to draw the cloak she was gifted in Lothlórien around herself. Beneath her breastplate, mail and shirt, warming against her skin on a chain, lay the Ring of Barahir.

Less than an hour had passed since she had stood in her father's embrace, watching the sun climb over the distant hills, but the time had come to shrug on the familiar mantle of the Marshal and summon her men.

"Folhelm!" She called to her second in command as he rode past her; "We ride to the left of the King's company – I want the men assembled and ready to ride out within the next few minutes."

"Already done, my lady." He grinned, nodding towards where the men of her company were already flowing down the winding path to the plain below like water. "They are ready."

"And their courage?" She murmured thoughtfully, knowing she had heard doubtful whispers moving through the camp after Aragorn's departure.

"Holding as strong as their Marshal's." Folhem confirmed with a reassuring smile.

"Thank you, my friend." She smiled, reaching out to clasp his shoulder as she dared a glance back at the mountain that loomed above them. As she had been saddling Folca, a cry had gone up from the men stationed near the mountain pass as with a panicked clatter, two riderless horses had charged into the camp. Her heart had leapt into her throat as she had dashed to catch the first, recognising Brego even before she had grasped his reins and soothingly laid a hand on his forehead. A swift glance confirmed her fear that the other mount was Arod, Legolas and Gimli's mount.

In that moment, she had almost abandoned her resolve and ridden for the mountain, before she had gathered her senses. She had to hope and believe that Aragorn had turned the horses back – perhaps the path had become too difficult, or they had reached the Dimholt Gate that led under the mountain. She could not bear to let herself think that a worse fate may have befallen them. Clinging to the vain hope that her three companions would endure, she had ordered for the horses to be prepared to ride with the muster, knowing that if they all made it through to the other side of this battle, they would be needed.

Huffing out a small sigh, she turned from the mountain, clicking her tongue as she urged Folca to follow her _éored_ down the winding path.

Amidst the chaos of the swiftly emptying encampment below, she made her way to the head of the riders, finding her father and Éomer and moving to their sides as her company fell in behind her. She did not linger on the thought that Éowyn had been suspiciously absent from the morning's activity.

Sparing the men of her family a small smile as she joined them, she urged Folca into a canter to match their pace as they moved through the camp.

"Ride!" She heard her father call as they passed the last few riders who were still readying themselves, "Ride now for Gondor!"

And with the king's command, their mounts broke into a gallop as they faced down the long ride to the gates of Minas Tirith.

* * *

Two days had passed since the Rohirrim's departure from Dunharrow. Two days and nights of hard riding and precious little rest. Still, each rider knew they had to reserve what strength they could – there would be no opportunity to refresh themselves when they arrived on the edge of battle.

On the outskirts of the Drúadan Forest, the first landmark they had encountered since crossing Gondor's boarder, and the last they would meet before the Pelennor Fields, Théoden called for them to rest as night fell once more. From there, it would be a straight gallop to Minas Tirith.

Though they were making good time and were set to arrive near half a day sooner than her father had estimated, Théadain grew more anxious with each passing minute. It hadn't taken long for the chain that held Aragorn's ring secure to be pulled from beneath her armour so she could twist it through her fingers, soothing her thumb over the textured design in an attempt to settle herself. She could feel that they were running out of time, that Gondor was running out of time. Each moment they lingered was a moment when another crushing blow could be dealt to Boromir's people.

_"The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin..."_

She shook her head to dispel the echoes of her friend's voice through her mind. She _had_ to believe they would make it in time, that Aragorn would make it. Though she was not entirely certain of what help he could bring, and indeed how he would even reach Minas Tirith from the mountains. Still, she could not afford to let her thoughts linger on him, not at this time, when distraction could cost her everything.

An hour or two they lingered by the woods, allowing the horses to rest and the men to eat and catch a few moments of sleep. Théadain managed a little of each, though her stomach was in knots – even more so when the scouts they had sent ahead of the company returned with word of Minas Tirith's fate. She had listened apprehensively as her father was informed of the army that had descended upon the Gondorian city, its number uncountable, certainly greater than the ten thousand they had faced down at Helm's Deep. All of Mordor was emptied and marching upon the world of men.

With a decidedly sinking feeling, it finally hit Théadain – that same feeling that had come upon her, trapped in the Hornburg keep. The feeling that this could, and very likely _would_ be her end. This would be the greatest battle of their time, certainly of the Third Age. If Gondor fell, each and every stronghold of the free peoples would fall too, including Rohan. Her homeland would be pillaged and burned, her people slaughtered and the world of men would be destroyed.

Outnumbered and terrified as they were, they _had_ to make a stand, they had to _try_ – and if they failed, at least they would go in a blaze of glory, knowing they had shown Sauron the strength of men, and Théadain knowing she had done all she could. She would know she had done all in her power to protect her people, to give Aragorn a chance and – she mused thoughtfully – if they could keep the forces of Mordor at bay long enough, perhaps it would give Frodo and Sam their chance to slip past the enemy.

That weak optimism still burned within her, the thought of the two brave Hobbits, hopefully still alive, still pressing on with their quest. Maybe, if fortune and fate still shone upon them, all was not yet lost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we take the final steps towards Minas Tirith! Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos - as always! X


	57. Chapter 57

_**Chapter 57** _

  
Gondor was not a place the Third Marshal of Rohan had spent much, if any time. Save for a few extended patrols that ventured across the Gondorian boarders, she had given the place little thought – at least, not until she had begun travelling with Boromir and Aragorn. She had never seen the great cities, though had heard enough of Minas Tirith from Théodred after he had returned from a visit there when they were teens. In her mind it had seemed a cold place, full of sterile, polished stone cut into clean lines and high walls, holding none of the warmth of her own home.

Her image of it had changed somewhat since the night in Lothlórien when Boromir had described it to her. She had not forgotten the words he had spoken to Aragorn, his devoted description of his home painting a richer portrait than Théodred's passing remarks.

_"Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The white tower of Ecthelion glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze?"_

Now, as she steadied her trembling hands to draw up Folca on the crest of the hill, with the sounds of the horns of Rohan echoing around her and the light of the rising sun at her back, she could see that the white tower did indeed shine.

Though the city below it burned.

Clenching her jaw grimly, Théadain's tawny eyes flickered between the war-ravaged city and the black stain that formed the battlefield before it. Tens of thousands of orcs, Uruk-hai and even the hulking forms of trolls ambled between the siege towers and instruments of war that littered the field before the city, though from this distance they seemed little more than swarming insects. They seemed to stretch on forever though, filling every available space between the burning city and the distant mountains. Above, a dark creature that she could not identify swooped, beating dread into her heart with every flap of its bat-like wings. Upon it's back she could just pick out a figure, cloaked entirely in black, and she knew that Sauron must have unleashed at least one of his nine riders to wreak destruction upon the people of Gondor.

From where the armies of Rohan stood, it appeared they were too late.

Still, they could not turn back now. As dire and hopeless as things seemed to be for the people of Minas Tirith and all that stood behind their walls – including Gandalf and Pippin – they could not abandon them, they had to try.

Glancing to where Éomer had drawn up his horse beside her, she exchanged a brief look of horror at what lay before him, before following his lead and turning to organise her company. They had formed in to ranks shortly before coming upon the Pelennor Fields, and now they stood facing her, the men that had stood by her through every trial she had faced within the boarders of her own lands.

"Thank you, my friends." She breathed, nodding to Folhelm as he offered her a reassuring smile, lending her voice a little more strength, "Thank you for standing by me, when our world has grown so dark. I can make no promises of the outcome of this battle, and I am sure others will have more inspiring words, but know it is an honour to ride with each of you." She swallowed thickly as she paused her address, ensuring her voice would not waver as she continued; "Today we fight not for ourselves, not even for Gondor, but for every free race that stands upon this earth. Should we fall, we fall with honour and valour. We will show this darkness what strength lies in the hearts of the Rohirrim, and when it is all over, I hope to stand with you all once more, whether in this land or in the halls of our forefathers, with those we have already lost."

Nodding her head once, and catching Folhelm's approving smile, she turned back to face the wrath of Mordor and await her king's command, listening as Éomer was commanded to lead his _éored_ down the left side.

"Théadain, follow the king's banner down the centre."

She nodded at her father's command, seeing how his eyes blazed determinedly at the prospect of the fight ahead.

"We stand with you, father." She assured him before he rode on.

Watching her father, her king, turn to ride along the ranks of his men, she felt her courage rise. If he did not waver, nor would she.

"Arise! Arise riders of Théoden!" He called, drawing the eyes and hearts of his riders to him as he surveyed their ranks, "Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword day, a red day, ere the sun rises!"

Hope swelled in the Sheildmaiden's chest, drawing her sword to signal to her _éored_ to lower their spears in preparation for their charge. Their last ride. Her father's voice had carried clear and true, and she could feel it, the collective bravery that rose behind her like a wave. The determination and valour of the Rohirrim. She felt it pulsing in her veins, in every breath she drew in as the beat of her heart quickened.

It was time, and she would not falter.

"Ride now, ride now!" Théoden cried, drawing his own sword as he urged his mount, Snowmane to canter back along the ranks; "Ride! Ride for ruin and the world's ending!" Knocking Herugrim against each lowered spear until he reached his daughter's outreached sword. Locking eyes with her one last time, he smiled at the fire he saw in those tawny depths beneath her helm. Turning to face his enemy, he raised his sword defiantly, releasing one last battle cry.

" _Death!"_

Théadain screamed the word with her father as his army answered in kind. It was a threat, a defiance of their enemies. They would rain it upon them and welcome it with open arms. They were the riders of Théoden, of Rohan, and their enemy would know their cry before they met their end.

_"Forth Eorlingas!"_

At the sound of a hundred horns at her back, they rode. Beneath her, Théadain felt Folca straining against her grip on the reins, surging forward after Théoden as he led the charge, outstripping his riders even as they fought to keep pace with him. The banners of the Mark flew proudly above them, even as the first volley of enemy arrows fell amongst them.

With a defiant cry, the first riders broke upon the lines of orcs like a hammer upon dry clay, shattering their ranks with the sheer force of their speed and number. Théadain grinned as, beneath Folca's pounding hooves and the sweep of her sword, her enemies fell before them. Between the riders, the creatures were herded like cattle and cut down with ease. This was where the strength of the Rohirrim lay in battle, not in hiding behind walls of stone or as foot-soldiers, but as a mounted cavalry they formed one of the most deadly and effective forces in Middle Earth.

Théadain soon found her focus completely absorbed by the battle, her eyes leaping to the next orc to dispatch, the next piece of ground to move to whilst Folca thoroughly proved his worth as a warhorse, his hooves thrashing and stamping to intimidate or crush any creature that got too near his rider. Time lost all meaning, nor did she care how long she had been in the grips of the fight – there was only the next move, the next opponent.

Around her, the riders were cutting a path through the hordes of orcs, clearing their way towards the city gates, whilst Éomer's company sought to drive their enemies towards the river – though suddenly, every rider seemed to freeze in place. The ground shook, and the orcs began to pull back.

Looking up as she jerked her sword from the neck of an orc, a gasp of horror left Théadain's body as she turned. For a moment, terror seized her and she could hardly process the sight before her. Bearing down upon them was a line of creatures she had only ever seen portrayed in books and drawings – creatures that she had almost doubted existed until this very moment. The Mûmakil of the Haradrim.

She had never seen anything like it, their bodies seemed larger than even that of the Balrog they had faced in Moria. Their great, sail-like ears would have blanketed the Golden Hall and their long, sweeping trunks seemed as thick as trees. On their backs each carried a great war-tower teeming with men – and there were twenty of the creatures approaching the Rohirrim.

"Reform the line!"

The call of her father shocked her from her stupor, forcing her to rally her spirit and turn back to her men.

"Form ranks!" She called, nudging Folca forward even as she felt him quake slightly at the sight of what approached; "It's alright." She breathed, her fingers stroking over his sweat-slicked shoulder even as she gripped the reins a little tighter, "I'll be brave if you will." She whispered to the horse as she straightened in the saddle.

At the sound of a horn blast, her loyal mount sprang forward, leading the charge as she raised her sword high and yelled defiantly as they galloped towards the advancing creatures.

And then the air was filled with screams.

As the lines of Rohirrim collided with the Mûmakil, men and horses alike were swept into the air by their great tusks, or crushed under their feet. Gasping with fright, Théadain ducked low over Folca's neck, feeling the wind whip past her as she narrowly missed being caught by a tusk. Passing below the creature, she summoned her courage enough to extend her sword and swipe across the creature's back leg, wincing as her sword glanced off its thick hide and jarred her wrist.

Straightening, she flinched as an arrow whistled past her cheek, her gaze drawn to the tower on the creature's back that it had been fired from. "Archers!" She called to any men that could hear her, "Bring down the towers! Bring them down!"

Leaning down from her saddle as Folca followed the charge back around the beasts, she snatched up an abandoned spear from a fallen rider, carefully steering her mount back towards the back legs of the creature. Weaving to avoid the arrows raining down upon them, and staying well clear of those treacherous tusks, she drove the spear into the back of the Mûmak's enormous knee. With a great roar, the creature turned slightly and stumbled as its leg struggled to support its massive weight – though she was given no opportunity to celebrate her success as Folca leapt away from its trampling feet.

Suddenly, another roar filled the air, and she looked up in alarm to see the creature to her right careening wildly towards the one she had just stabbed. She was about to be trapped between the pair – and their combined eight crushing feet. Spurring Folca on with a desperate cry, she fought to guide him between the great legs of the Mûmak that staggered towards her, urging him into a frantic gallop as they narrowly missed being crushed as it fell into its companion.

Drawing up Folca to give herself a moment to catch her breath, she looked around, trying to grasp her bearings in the confusion. Minas Tirith still lay to her back, the orcs had returned, swarming around her riders, and still so many of the Mûmakil continued to trample and sweep her men out of their path as if they were no more than dust.

Yet they had brought down two already. She knew now the force needed to pierce their hide.

Leaning down to snatch up another spear protruding from the body of an orc, she charged for the nearest beast, steering Folca in a wide circle to approach it from behind. Steeling her nerve, she rode directly between its massive legs, driving her spear into one and using her sword to cut deeply across the other. With a thunderous sound of pain, the Mûmak reared up onto its damaged hind legs and beneath her, Folca spooked.

Crying out in alarm she fell forward and grasped the horse's neck as he reared up in a mirror image of the creature that they still stood beneath, his squeal of fright ripping through the air as he staggered back on his hind legs. For a terrible moment, it felt as though he would fall backwards, but as she threw all of her weight onto his neck he sprang forward, carrying them just clear of the Mûmak as it fell in a hail of arrows. But though he had carried her to safety, she had lost both her stirrups and reins, and his unsteady landing was the final blow against her balance.

With a cry she fell from Folca's back, landing heavily on her side on the dusty battlefield – the fall forcing the air from her lungs as she lay there, stunned.

For a moment that stretched seemingly for an age, she could not move – though the thought briefly crossed her mind that she genuinely could not remember the last time she had fallen from Folca. Too long ago to think of now, she mused, before the sounds of battle reached her ears once more and her body stirred with a surge of adrenaline. She could not lay there in the dust and wait to be trampled.

Forcing herself up with a groan, she grasped for where her sword had fallen mercifully by her side, turning to snatch up the shield of a fallen rider and securing it on her arm – just in time to be able to knock back the orc that lunged at her. Driving it to the ground and following through with her sword, she pulled back to take stock of her surroundings. A swift scan of the ground nearby assured her that Folca was not one of the fallen horses, and she knew that if her beloved companion had any sense he would have bolted far from the battle.

"Théadain!"

At the sound of Folhelm's voice behind her, she turned to see his face painted with worry as he fought off another orc astride his horse.

"I'm alright, go- defend the king!" She ordered, a swift twist carrying her out of the way of a Haradrim solider that had fallen from his tower as the Mûmakil were brought down, a deft swipe of her sword across his back dispatching him.

With that, she found herself in the chokehold of battle once more, though more forcefully placed in the midst of the chaos by the lack of her mount. At this level, she could barely see the city, surrounded as she was by men of the South, orcs and the remaining Mûmakil. Still, she fought on, for there was no other option, save for giving up. Setting her eyes on the forms of horses beyond her foes, she focused on cutting a path towards her countrymen, knowing she would be safer with them than isolated out on the field.

She had thought she had heard her father's voice rise above the fray, rallying his riders, but then another, infinitely more terrible sound reached her ears. Theádain could not help but double over in pain as the awful shriek split the air, driving into her skull like a hot knife as a shadow fell over the battlefield.

Forcing herself up to face this new terror, Théadain felt her blood run cold at the sight of the winged beast swooping down onto the battlefield, its rider unmistakable cloaked entirely in black, and his sights set clearly upon the form of her father. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle of the Pelennor Fields is underway, but it's not going to get any easier for poor Théadain...  
> I hope you've enjoyed the battle so far, don't forget to let me know what you thought in a comment! X


	58. Chapter 58

_**Chapter 58** _

  
" _Father!_ "

The scream was torn from her body as Théadain helplessly watched the fell beast of the Nazgûl clamp its terrible jaws around Snowmane, lifting both horse and the king as if they were merely dolls. A scream of anguish passed her lips as it flung him across the battlefield with a snarl, out of her direct line of sight.

"No!" She cried in terror as she turned to fight desperately towards him, an orc rising up in front of her only for her to cut across its throat with desperate ferocity, driven into a near frenzy of panic as she tried to catch sight of her father. As she wrestled with an orc that lunged at her sheildarm, knocking it to the ground and driving the edge of her shield into its chest with such force that its armour buckled, she heard an awful, gasping growl roll across the battlefield. Straining to see what had happened over the sea of enemies, men and horseflesh, she caught sight of the winged mount of the black rider writhing and twitching as it slumped to the ground, though she could not pick out what had brought it down.

A yell of frustration passed her lips as she was grabbed from behind, just raising her sword in time to block the curved Eastern blade that moved to slice across her neck. Throwing herself back forcefully, she managed to shake off the Haradrim soldier that had caught her, her eyes briefly meeting his as she locked blades with him, feeling that deep-rooted sense of discomfort that came from facing down a member of her own race. She saw him falter, seeing that she was a woman – his brief distraction gave her the chance to knock him soundly in the face with her shield, breaking his nose and freeing him of consciousness.

She did not have time to ponder her morals, not when her father – her king – needed her.

Turning back to where she guessed he had been thrown, her heart hammering in her ears, she choked on a sound of grief and shock as her eyes settled on the fallen form of Snowmane, and her father pinned beneath the white stallion.

That screaming terror flared within her again, tightening her chest like a vice until she almost couldn't breathe. For a single awful, distracting moment, her mind flashed to a heartache that brought the squeals of an injured horse and the gasps of a dying man to her ears. The day she had clutched her mentor in her arms when he had been crushed by his own horse.

Her thoughts were forcefully pulled from that dreadful comparison between her father and Fenmer as her eyes settled on the single soldier that stood between the fallen king and the looming figure dressed in black. A chill pierced her body as she realised that she recognised the familiar form of that solider, and the helm that she had pressed into her cousin's hands only a few nights ago.

"Éowyn!" She choked, though the word was lost amidst the roar of battle. Watching in horror as the Nazgûl strode towards her cousin, she tightened her grip on her sword and moved to dash towards them – just as she was bowled over by a great weight crashing into her side.

Instinctively spinning to put her shield between herself and her foe, Théadain landed heavily on her back, groaning as her head knocked against the interior of her helmet. A gargling growl reached her ears and she rolled; the great mace that had been swung at her head burying in the ground where she had laid seconds before. Scrambling to her feet, she grimaced at the orc that staggered towards her. He was the palest creature of that race she had ever seen, wheezing and snarling as he lurched towards her – one withered, wasted arm clamped to his chest as the other jerked the mace from where the head was embedded in the earth. It was his face that was most grotesque, a mess of excess flesh and folds of skin, protruding in bulbous, tumorous growths. Yet still, she could make out at least one cruel, glinting eye amidst the disfigurement. An eye that had its sights firmly set on her.

Raising her shield against the heavy swing of his mace, she gasped at the shock that reverberated through her arm, gathering her strength enough to throw him back and swipe out at his chest with her sword. He was strong, more so than any orc she had fought before. Meeting his snarl with a growl of her own, she danced away from his next swing; "Come here, you ugly brute." She bit out as she stared him down, just out of arm's reach. This creature stood between her and Éowyn, between her and her father, and that thought made fury flare like a flame in her chest.

Lunging forward with a cry, she met the downward swing of his mace with her shield, moving to knock it from his hand just as he swept her legs from under her with a well-placed kick. The shield slipped from her arm and she barely had time to grasp it with both hands to protect her face before he slammed another blow down on the wood – cracking it clean down the middle. Then his foot was on her swordarm, pinning it to the ground so forcefully that a yelp of pain escaped her lips, her fingers grasping for the hilt of her blade that had fallen just out of reach.

Looking up, she watched him raise the mace once more, knowing that this time its route to her skull would be interrupted by neither sword or shield.

With a last, desperate yell, she threw the splintered half of her shield that she still gripped in her free hand. Connecting soundly with her foe's jaw, he was disorientated just long enough for the Shieldmaiden to jerk her arm free, lunging to grab the orc's good arm and throwing all her weight against him as she tried to wrestle the mace from his grasp.

As he tumbled back to the ground, landing with a heavy growl, she fought him harder, driving her knee into his chest as she finally tugged the mace free from his mutilated fingers – just as he used his wasted arm to throw her off him onto her own back.

His hand had closed over her throat before she had time to react, squeezing forcefully as his hulking form loomed over her, foul breath cascading down into her face as her hands scrambled to get purchase on his thick wrist, panic flaring wildly within her. Black spots danced in her vision as she gasped fruitlessly. Choked, desperate sounds were all that she could manage as he pressed down on her airway, crushing it beneath his deformed hand.

It wasn't supposed to end like this – the thought flickered across her mind as her vision wavered – she was supposed to die with a sword in her hand...

A sword – a flick of her eyes to her right and a frantic sweep of her arm and her fingers had closed around a hilt. Summoning the last of her strength, she drove the blade upwards, through the thick muscle and scar tissue that obscured her enemy's neck, and out the other side.

With a desperate gasp, she dragged in a lungful of air as his grip went limp, grimacing as the corpse fell heavily onto her body with a sickeningly wet gargle. Coughing in an attempt to clear and revive her battered airways, she shoved him roughly off her body, laying there stunned in the dust for a moment as she cherished the feeling of simply being able to _breathe._

Then she recalled what she had been fighting towards.

Rolling to her side and forcing herself up with a pained gasp, she looked around, catching sight of the form of Snowmane from where she lay amidst the still-raging battle. Using her sword to force herself to her feet, she staggered weakly towards the fallen horse, a choke of relief passing her lips as she caught sight of Éowyn's kneeling form.

"Éowyn..." She breathed, a whimper following her words as she saw the younger woman cradling her father's head in her hand.

"Théa..." Éowyn gasped as her cousin collapsed to her knees on the other side of the king, tugging off her helmet frantically and reaching for his hand.

"Father?" She choked, touching her gloved fingers to his face as she saw his chest continuing to rise and fall, but not without great effort.

"Théadain?" The soft, disbelieving whisper of her name passed his lips as his gaze flickered from his niece to his daughter.

"I'm here father." She whispered reassuringly, echoing the words she had spoken to him when his eyes had first fallen on her, the day he was freed from Saruman's hold. "I'm here."

"Théadain... My eyes darken." He breathed, his fingers curling weakly around hers as she held his hand to her face, tears pooling in her eyes as she clung to her father.

"No... No, we're going to save you..." Éowyn tried to assure him bravely, looking to her cousin for hope as the redheaded woman released a trembling breath.

"You already did." Théoden assured her softly, "Éowyn... My body is broken, you have to let me go."

At his peaceful, accepting words, a soft sob left Théadain, even as she fought to keep herself strong, to assure him that she would be alright. That crushing feeling had settled on her chest once more, pinning her sprit down with an aching grief that she could not fight.

"No..." Éowyn tried to softly protest even as Theádain reached to lay her free hand comfortingly on her cousin's shoulder. Beneath them, she could feel her father's breathing slowing, his eyelids lowering with each heavy blink.

"I go to my fathers, in whose mighty company... I shall not now feel ashamed." He breathed out softly, his eyes unconsciously seeking the sky above them as Théadain's tears spilled from her eyes, running clear tracks down her cheeks.

"Go to Théodred, father... He will be waiting." She choked softly, holding his hand a little tighter, as if she could hold his life to her just a little longer.

The king's eyes drifted to his daughter, his lips curving into a gentle, accepting smile as he gazed up at her. A soft whisper of her name passed his lips as her tearful eyes met his, and then he stilled.

A quiet sob fell from Théadain as she saw the light leave his eyes, her hand tightening on Éowyn's shoulder as she trembled under the weight of her grief. She could only cling to her father's limp hand as the younger woman wailed softly, laying her head on the chest of her uncle as she clung to him.

Lifting her eyes from her father's face, Théadain realised with a crushing feeling that she could not rest yet. The battle still raged, though it had moved off from where their king had fallen. Dashing her tears from her eyes and drawing in a ragged breath, she reached for her sword once more.

"Stay with him, Éowyn." She choked softly as her cousin lifted her head slightly as she felt her stir. The redhead had seen how her younger cousin had been cradling her left arm tenderly against her, indicating that she had not come out of her fight unscathed. She could not fight on now. "I will find you when it is all over... Stay with him."

Receiving a trembling nod in answer, Théadain forced herself to her feet, before turning back to the battle once more.

Drained of all energy and will as she was, the Third Marshal of Rohan fought her way fiercely across the battlefield in an effort to re-join the ranks of the Rohirrim that had now moved closer to the city. Deaf to the chaos around her, she could only focus on throwing whatever will she had left into each strike of her blade. By the time she became aware of the green most swirling across the battlefield, she was almost too numbed by grief and exhaustion to be startled by the lurching forms of skeletal soldiers that drifted past her. A breathless moment of hesitation and bewilderment was all she was granted as she watched the haunting visions before her picking off any foes that were out of her reach, her weary mind desperately trying to comprehend the ghost stories of her childhood playing out before her. With a choked sound of alarm, she flinched back as one spirit brutally ran through an orc that staggered across her path, a pair of sightless sockets momentarily turning to her before moving on. It took another moment of watching the misting ranks of the ethereal army to pass her by before Théadain realised that they intended her no harm, and that she knew what their presence meant.

This was the Army of the Dead, they had answered the summons of Isildur's Heir and had come to their aid.

Meaning that Aragorn had succeeded.

 _Aragorn_. That thought alone was enough to stir something in her aching soul, urging her on. A promise of reunion and sanctuary at the end of this waking nightmare.

With renewed hope, she had battled on, fuelled by the need to lay her vengeance upon the forces that had struck her father down – even if it did seem that the Lord of the Nazgûl had been slain at Éowyn's hand. Gradually though, the battlefield quietened, and she soon found herself left without foes to cut down or even the presence of the dead around her. Looking up at the still-smouldering form of Minas Tirith, she watched as that eerie mist swept through the levels of the great settlement like rushing water, presumably ridding it of any lingering members of Sauron's forces.

As the chaos stilled, she lowered her sword warily, casting her eyes around herself as she stood in the middle of the Pelennor Fields, surrounded by the bodies of orcs, Haradrim and her countrymen alike. Even the great Mûmakil had been brought down. Riders still roamed the outer limits of the field, already beginning to move in to check for survivors. Drawing in a shuddering breath, realisation dawned upon the Shieldmaiden as she looked around. They had won.

Running a shaking hand through her windswept hair, a breathy sound of disbelief – almost a laugh – passed her lips. It was over, and they had _won_.

Though they had lost so much, she recalled as the tears she had held at bay swiftly came to her eyes again, taking advantage of her sudden exhaustion and vulnerability. Glancing back over the battlefield, completely disorientated, she could not guess where she had left Éowyn guarding the body of her father.

Just as she had summoned her strength to take that first, shaking step in her search for them, a soft footfall behind her made her turn, her fingers tightening warily on the hilt of her sword.

Only for them to loosen, the weapon falling to the ground as a trembling breath of relief ghosted from her lips at the sight of the man walking towards her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you're still enjoying the story!  
> Apologies for my updates being slightly less frequent over the last few weeks, work got considerably more demanding and my poor brain is still catching up! X


	59. Chapter 59

_**Chapter 59** _

  
The feeling of relief, of clear, unbridled elation was indescribable. After so many days of darkness and doubt, it warmed Aragorn's heart like nothing he had ever felt before.

After that brief moment of taking in their victory and releasing the Army of the Dead from their oath, his thoughts had quickly turned back to the battlefield.

Even as he had been fighting in the thick of the fray, he had not caught sight of her, though his eyes had constantly searched for that flash of copper hair as he fought - even going so far as the scan the ground as he ran, terrified that the vision he had seen in the Palantir would become reality. Yet there had been no sign, nothing to indicate that she was near.

Then, as Éomer had approached him as peace had fallen over the field, offering only a small shake of his head in response to the dark-haired man's questioning glance, they had turned to search the plain. He had felt his chest growing tighter each time he came across a fallen bay horse, swiftly checking for any of Folca's distinguishing marks before moving on.

And then his eyes had fallen upon her.

Stood amidst the debris and ruin of the battle, her gaze fixed out on the plains that stretched ahead of the city, he had watched her run one tired hand through her copper curls as the wind toyed with them lazily, her sword hanging loosely in her other hand. Her armour was battered, smeared with dirt and blood, but still she stood tall among her fallen enemies - alive.

She had turned as he had approached her, unwilling to call out and startle her, and as she had caught sight of him her sword had slipped from her trembling fingers, her bright, tawny eyes swimming with unshed tears as her gaze locked on his.

"Théa..." Aragorn breathed, breaking into a desperate run to cover the last measure of distance between them and catch her in his arms, clutching her shaking frame to his body as she clung to him with a small, frantic sound. His hand found her hair as he cradled her head against his shoulder, feeling her clutching at his coat as a shuddering sob of relief left her lips.

No, he could not describe the feeling of having her in his arms once more, living and breathing and _safe_.

"Aragorn..." Her choked sob of his name only spurred him to hold her tighter, his lips soothingly pressing into her hair as his arms supported her, already feeling that her legs were beginning to give up on her.

"I hope I didn't come too late?" He breathed softly into her hair, recalling the last words she had spoken to him before he had ridden away beneath the mountain. A soft sniffle against his shoulder and a small shake of her head made his lips quirk into a gentle smile, looking down at her as she drew back slightly.

"Only just." She whispered in reply, her voice wavering with withheld emotion.

Carefully, he cupped her cheek in his hand, tilting her chin up so her eyes met his; "Théa?"

"I... My father..." Her voice cracked as she tried to explain, the first tears spilling from her eyes to follow the tracks of those she had shed earlier as she saw Aragorn's face fall in dismay.

"Théadain..."

He clutched her tightly to him once more, knowing no words he could say would ease the pain she was feeling. It rolled off her in tangible waves, now that she had lowered her defences and accepted her vulnerability, here in the safety of his arms.

Though it could not last, he saw that as he heard the steps of another approaching rapidly. Looking up, he offered what he hoped was a reassuring look to Éomer as the horseman dashed towards his cousin. At his call of her name, Aragorn felt Théadain draw herself up a little in his arms, as if she had remembered that she could not fully relax yet, that she still had a role to play, news to deliver.

Gently he released her, only to watch as she was caught up in the enthusiastic hold of her cousin.

"You're alright." The blonde man breathed in relief, drawing back to hold her at arm's length to examine her and confirm his words. Slowly she nodded, looking up at her elder cousin as realisation dawned in her heart.

"Hail, Éomer." She breathed softly, her voice shaking as his brow furrowed, "King of the Mark."

"Théa?"

"He fell, Éomer..." She choked, "He's gone."

As her cousin released her, shock painting his features, she felt Aragorn's hand on her back, steadying her.

"Where is he?" The new king managed to force out the words even as tears pricked at his eyes, reaching to grasp his cousin's upper arm urgently.

"I..." She gestured weakly out onto the battlefield, "I lost them... Éomer..." She looked up at him regretfully, knowing she had to tell him, "Éowyn, she was with him..."

"Éowyn?" He choked in disbelief, his hand tightening on her arm as she nodded.

"She followed us..."

A low curse left the man's lips, though she knew it only came from a place of fear, his eyes already frantic with worry. Glancing back at his cousin, and then looking to the man that stood at her back, gently supporting her trembling frame;

"Get her into the city." He murmured to Aragorn, even as his eyes darted back to the battlefield, already searching for his sister.

"I can help..."

"No, Théa." He insisted even as she took an unsteady step towards him and stumbled, Aragorn's arm sweeping under hers the only thing that prevented her from falling. Slumping back against his chest, she let him pull her back to her feet as she watched her cousin stride away from them, unable to shake the lingering sense of guilt that had settled on her. She could have prevented Éowyn from coming, if something had happened after she had left her... Nausea churned in her stomach, the thought of losing her cousin making her head spin.

"Théa?"

Or perhaps it was also exhaustion, she considered as her legs buckled beneath her and the sound of Aragorn calling her name washed over her, as though she were being carried away with a dream. The pleasant feeling of floating as two strong arms wrapped around her was not unwelcome, nor was the wavering image of his face that she glimpsed before the world slipped into darkness.

* * *

A low groan passed the Shieldmaiden's lips as the sounds of the world around her began to permeate the blissful oblivion of her unconsciousness, and for a moment the chaotic clamour surrounding her made her fear that she was still in the grips of the battle.

With a frightened gasp she sat up abruptly, her hand reaching for her sword but closing on air as the world around her lurched uncomfortably. She hissed through her clenched teeth in pain as her hand sought the back of her head, pressing down on the tender point that seemed to throb with each move she made. Lord, she _hurt_. Every muscle in her body seemed to be screaming, begging her to lay back on the - bed? No...

Daring to glance down, she saw she was merely laid upon a spread cloak, her own rolled into a pillow where her head had rested. _Where_ she was exactly, she did not know, but darkness had fallen and people milled past her in a constant stream, some speaking softly, others shouting out instructions.

"Easy lass." A broad hand on her shoulder stopped her from preparing to get up, gently pressing her to lay back down. It was then her eyes settled on the form of Gimli, sitting at her side, tucked against a stone wall.

"Gimli..." She breathed in confusion as she let her head drop back onto the folded cloak, willing to follow his guidance to rest - the world didn't sway quite so much when she was laying down. "What... What happened?"

"Ye' weren't for staying awake out there, lass." He chuckled as she grimaced.

"Did I faint?" She groaned softly, rubbing her hand over her forehead, "That's mortifying..."

"Can't be as bad as the entire city watching our laddie carrying you in here."

"Enough..." She whined, pressing the heel of her hands to her eyes as even they seemed to throb, ignoring the dwarf's teasing chuckle, "No more."

"Can't rightly see why they call 'em the Houses of Healing if all they did was lay you on the floor." He mused as the young woman at his side shifted uncomfortably on the cold stone; "Seems even being the rightful king's favourite won't get you a bed in this place though - I did ask."

"Don't need one." She grumbled quietly, her hand dropping to lightly rub across her throat where it burned uncomfortably. Desperately trying to order her thoughts and settle her memories, she tried to pick out the reason for each injury, each pulsing ache. She could recall falling from Folca - Folca, where had the stupid beast gotten to? If he'd got himself killed...

Killed.

The small, choked sound that left the Shieldmaiden startled the dwarf at her side, before his features settled into a look of sympathy as she covered her face with her hands once more, having suddenly remembered the loss she had suffered. The memory crashed to the forefront of her mind with the force of a landslide. She hadn't been able to save him.

Grief in its rawest, most heart-wrenching form gripped her heart like an icy hand. In the midst of the battle, the adrenaline coursing through her veins had not allowed her to fully process the loss of her father. Now it came in full force; that terrible, painful anguish threatening to completely consume her.

As she rolled onto her side to bury her face in the cloak beneath her head, her fingers clutched at the familiar, woven fabric as she tried to hide her heartache from those passing by. Broken sobs shook her aching body as the devastating weight of her loss settled on her.

"You're alright lass..." Gimli's heavy hand settled on her shoulder, making a fair attempt at rubbing back and forth soothingly.

"I... Éowyn..." She whimpered even as her fingers tried futilely to dash the tears from her cheeks, "Did they find her? Is she safe?"

"Aye, she's here." He assured her gently, failing to mention her cousin's unconscious state, not wanting to worry the young woman. She managed a small nod, gritting her teeth as even that caused her head to pound painfully. "Aragorn's with her."

She nodded, her fingers unconsciously seeking the chain around her neck at the mention of his name, her chest aching with a pain that had nothing to do with her physical injuries. "And you? Legolas?"

"We're all fine, lass, every one of us." He chuckled fondly at her concern, "Gandalf, Pippin, Merry - all safe."

She nodded once more, soothing her thumb over the ring clasped in her fingers. It seemed impossible, that after what they had faced, they had not lost more. Still, when she closed her tearful eyes she still saw her father's broken body laying on a battlefield, and lines of her countrymen cast upon the ground by their enemies. Though they had victory, it seemed a little hollow in the face of what they had lost.

She must have drifted off again, laying there on the floor of the Houses of Healing, lulled to sleep by her tears amidst the injured soldiers and citizens of Minas Tirith that had been piled into every available space. Once in her fitful dreams haunted by battle, she thought she felt warm fingers lightly brush her cheek, a press of lips to her temple and a low, familiar murmur over her head, before the feeling was gone, and the moment of peace brought with it.

When she woke once more, it was quieter, save for the soft snores of Gimli as the dwarf sat, keeping his loyal vigil. The cold of the stone beneath Théadain had seeped into her, past the mail she still wore though her outer layers of armour had been removed. The chill made her very bones ache and she could not hold back the low groan of discomfort that left her as she sat up tentatively. The world no longer spun, and the pain in her head had faded to a dull ache. The pain in her heart however had not fully eased, merely slipping from raw grief to a more hollow feeling of mourning.

Carefully, she eased herself to her feet, lifting the cloak she had lain on and carefully covering Gimli's sleeping form, sparing the dwarf a fond, grateful smile as she turned to look around.

It was a scene reminiscent of the Hornburg, in the hours following the battle at Helm's Deep - though it seemed the initial stage of chaos had passed whilst she was lost to the world. Now men lay quietly, either on the few carefully spaced out beds or on the floor as she had been, all either sleeping or being tended to by women clothed in grey; healers, she guessed confidently. The room was lined with high windows, no doubt to allow light to spill in during the day, but now she could only see by the low light of lanterns that lined the walls. She did not doubt that Aragorn was here somewhere, working tirelessly over the injured, though where she could not guess. At each end of the room, great wooden doors were propped open, allowing her a view of similarly laid out rooms stretching on for the length of the building. It seemed Minas Tirith was better prepared for the fallout of battle than the Rohirrim had been in the Hornburg.

Steadying herself with a hand against the wall, she tried a few cautious steps, before feeling returned to her stiff legs and she was able to walk from the corner she had been carefully tucked into.

"My lady, you should be resting."

The soft voice and a light hand at her elbow made her turn and smile softly at the young woman that had rushed to her side, garbed in the grey robes of the other healers she had seen.

"I'm alright." She assured her softly, managing a tired smile, "I just needed to stretch my legs."

"We have a garden, my lady." The woman gestured to a smaller door on one side of the room, "You are welcome to make use of it."

Murmuring a gentle word of thanks, Théadain moved to follow her guidance, pushing open the doorway and stepping out onto the paved path beyond. Drawing in a deep, settling breath of the cool night air, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The garden seemed to be set on the very edge of the tall city, on one of the higher levels, she guessed from what appeared to be an uninterrupted view across the plains that lay before the city - save for the narrow white pillars that supported the level above. There were no stars tonight, she noted as she looked up, even the moon was veiled by what she could only guess was thick cloud. Yet in the East, beyond the distant hills, a fiery glow lit the sky.

Biting her lip, she stepped from the path to cross the soft, well-cared for grass that carpeted the garden, passing the carefully planted trees and bushes to reach the point that the grass abruptly ended, an edging of white stone the only barrier between the grass and the steep drop beyond. Leaning against one of the pillars, she looked down over the city that spilled below, each level reaching out a little further than the one above. Smoke still rose from some parts of the walls, where Sauron's assault had fallen, the grey plumes only visible in the darkness as they blocked the gleaming white stone of the city walls from her view.

"You're awake then."

She smiled softly at the low tones of her cousin, looking up as Éomer reached her side, leaning heavily against the pillar next to hers. He looked exhausted, she thought, still clothed in his battle armour, and his eyes red and tired, as though he had been crying. She reached out one hand to take his, squeezing reassuringly.

"Éowyn?" She whispered softly in question, worry gnawing at her as she realised he must have been with her.

"Sleeping." He sighed, "There was a moment..." He shook his head, fixing his gaze on the city below, "She is out of danger now, Aragorn... I cannot say how, but he healed her."

"Good..." She breathed, lifting her eyes to gaze out over the distant plains, able to pick out the lights of a few torches as men continued to search for survivors and the bodies of the fallen. "And... My father, did you...?"

"Aragorn had his body sent to the Hallows - the Tombs of the Kings." He explained gently, even as his voice caught on the words, "We buried Snowmane where he fell."

She nodded as her throat tightened, unable to bring herself to speak anymore of her father just yet. Her guilt and frustration at being unable to tend to those duties would overwhelm her. Yet, the thought of Aragorn taking such care, of taking it upon himself to ensure that her father was treated so respectfully... It was a gesture of love she hadn't expected, though still one she couldn't dwell on, for it made the ache in her heart all the more potent. Turning to look up into her cousin's weary face, she squeezed his hand a little tighter, "And what of you, Éomer?"

He breathed out a tired chuckle at her question, shaking his head wryly; "I hardly know what I feel, Théa... I did not truly expect what has fallen on my shoulders. It was always to be Théodred, not I."

"I know..." She whispered softly, "None of us foresaw this, Éomer... Though I know you will rise to it. You are strong, and fair - you will make a great king."

He smiled fondly down at his younger cousin, gently pulling her against his side and wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they both turned back to the city below, each lost to their thoughts of what had passed, and what was to come.


	60. Chapter 60

**_Chapter 60_ **

  
As a weak dawn had broken over the ravaged city of Minas Tirith, Théadain had slipped from the Houses of Healing. She had spent the remainder of the night after the battle at Éowyn's bedside, giving Éomer a chance to rest after standing vigil over her since she had been found.

They had spoken softly through the night, Éomer loosely explaining the shadow that had fallen over his sister during the battle, Théadain informing him of exactly _what_ Éowyn had achieved during the fight, the nature of her foe explaining the powerful effect it had over her. Still, Aragorn had drawn her back from that darkness, though she continued to sleep even through the dawn, her pallor still an unsettling grey. It was then, as the first rays of the sun fell through the open window, that the aching need to do _something_ had fallen over Théadain.

Still clothed in her heavy mail, the Shieldmaiden had walked down through the levels of the White City. The Houses of Healing were placed on the sixth level, the only one above it housing the Citadel and the Royal Quarters - though she suspected she would not find Aragorn there, not yet. She longed to see him, to find shelter in his arms and let him soothe away the ache of loss that clung to her, but she knew he was needed by others more. To be needed would be a relief, it would give her something to focus on, so she resolved to find those that so often looked to her for guidance.

One of the guards of Minas Tirith was able to tell her that the uninjured men of Rohan had been housed on the second level, and so she made her way to them, though she found few there. Most had already made their way back out to the battlefield to search for their friends, or to catch the loose horses that still roamed in the wake of the fighting. When she made her own way down, following the slope of the streets rather than any memory of when she had been brought in - seemingly in Aragorn's arms - she found herself stepping over rubble and debris even as people tirelessly worked to clear it. Pausing briefly, she lent herself to a pair of women struggling to lift the remains of a heavy wooden beam away from a doorway. Though her shoulders ached under the weight, it eased that anxious need within her to help. Dismissing the women's thanks with a small smile, she moved on, marvelling at how swiftly the roads were being cleared. Even mere hours after the siege, the people of Minas Tirith were rallying.

Passing beneath the ruined gate, Théadain had once more found herself stepping out onto the Pelennor Fields, quickly being swept up into the activity of clearing the road that led from the city gates to the ruin of Osgiliath to the East. That was where she found Folhelm, working alongside Gamling to gather up each riderless horse that had been recovered from the battlefield and beyond - and it was there that her friend pressed Folca's reins into her hand, watching as his Marshal's steady composure dissolved into a mist of tears as she flung her arms around the horse's neck, before turning to embrace her friends. She could hardly express her relief at seeing them both alive, albeit as battered and bruised as she was. Both men keenly felt the loss of her father, as did each man of Rohan that she encountered throughout the morning, but she could not bring herself to speak of him. Not yet.

Instead, just as she had done in the aftermath of the Battle of Helm's Deep, she threw herself into helping in any way she could. If she was busy, she could not let her thoughts linger on what she had lost nor - she had realised as she had found her hand unconsciously seeking the ring that hung around her neck - the choice she still had to make. So she focused on what she could; searching through the fallen men of Rohan and Gondor for survivors, gathering up any undamaged weaponry that she came across, and tossing the bodies of their enemies on to the massive pyres that were forming on either side of the great road. The acrid stench of smoke and death hung heavy in the air as she worked, but it kept her focused. It meant their enemies armies had weakened, but as time went on, and as her eyes continued to find her way back to those Eastern hills, an uncomfortable feeling settled upon the Third Marshal. The feeling that they had not truly won this war.

Another battle had gone in their favour, yes, but beyond those mountains, Sauron still thrived. He had taken a great blow, in losing the largest battle since the Last Alliance, but still he lived, and now he knew their strength. Beyond those mountains, he had to be regrouping, recovering his own strength to strike out again.

She had no doubt that if he did, they would not be able to stand against that blow.

* * *

Eventually, concern had won out over Théadain's anxious need to keep moving. As the sun climbed high over the city, vainly trying to break through the thick cover of cloud, she had returned to the quiet sanctuary of the Houses of Healing, seeking out Éowyn's room. In the light of day, it was easier to navigate the building that had so disorientated her during the night. Those long rooms that housed the soldiers were set around a central courtyard, off which a number of smaller chambers were set - which was where she found Éowyn, still sleeping soundly.

Leaning against the doorframe, she watched her cousin with a small, sad smile. She looked better, her cheeks returning to their usual porcelain hue, rather than the grey pallor that had graced them through the night. Above all else, she looked peaceful, her expression no longer contorted into one of pain or grief and for a moment, Théadain envied her.

Lost to her thoughts and longing for the oblivion of sleep, she barely felt the light pressure of a hand on her lower back through her mail, but the soft press of lips to the crown of her head was confirmation enough of who had found her. Leaning into Aragorn's touch, she sighed softly, her eyes falling shut as she felt herself relax into his reassuring presence, just as she felt him relax with what she suspected was relief at seeing her up and moving. She didn't doubt that her little episode after the battle had alarmed him. For a long moment, they stood in silence, simply drinking in the comfort of their quiet reunion. They did not need to express their relief verbally, nor express how glad each was to see the other, how desperately they had longed for it. Both knew, without a word being spoken.

As Théadain breathed in, she noticed that a bright, cleansing scent clung to him, though she did not need to ask to identify it as _athelas,_ the plant that under his hands seemed to work miracles. Looking up and meeting his searching grey gaze, clearly examining her for any lingering signs of injury, she could see he looked exhausted.

"I looked for you this morning." He murmured, a measure of fond accusation in his tone as he swept her hair back from her neck, only just noticing the thick bruising that encircled her delicate throat.

"I escaped." She smiled reassuringly, batting his hand away and brushing her hair back into place. "Did you need me?"

"I need you now." The earnest whisper made her reach for his hand, her gaze questioning as she looked up at him.

"Anything." She assured him softly, casting one last glance back at Éowyn as he led her from the room. "Aragorn?" She questioned as gently as she could as he strode from the Houses of Healing, pausing for a moment on the street outside. "What is it? What do you need?"

He exhaled softly as he looked down at her, "The upper level." He breathed, his eyes darting up to land upon the spire of the white tower that loomed above the streets.

"You have not gone up yet." She guessed, laying her hand on his bicep as she looked up at him. Of course, he would have been too preoccupied with healing the wounded in the aftermath of the battle, he would not have had the chance to climb to the topmost level of the city. The level where she knew the White Tree grew, and the throne of the king sat.

Looking into his eyes, she expected to see that apprehension that had haunted him since they had first met, but it was absent. He seemed sure of himself, he was not seeking to avoid this. In the time she had known him, he had truly grown away from the uncertain, wary Ranger. He knew his strength now. Before her stood a man ready to be king.

He had simply wanted her by his side as he took these final steps towards his birthright.

Smiling adoringly up at him, she offered him her hand; "You don't need me, but I am here." Returning her smile, he slipped his hand into hers, turning to lead her up the gentle slope of the street. As they walked, she felt eyes turning towards them, making a self-conscious heat rise to her cheeks, but he led her on. She just hoped he realised the statement he was making. Within these walls his every move would be watched, it would not go unnoticed, walking hand in hand with a scruffy girl from Rohan, still half-dressed for battle - nor would it have gone unnoticed that he had carried her into the city after said battle.

So perhaps it was a little late to blush over his people seeing her hand entwined with his.

She could feel his pace quickening as he led her up the sheltered flight of stone steps to the citadel, almost as if he was eager to reach it - but just before the last few steps he paused, hesitating for just a moment. Wordlessly, she squeezed his hand, letting him know that she was there by his side as he drew in a steadying breath.

Then he strode up the final few steps, his hand tightening around hers as they emerged out into the wide, open courtyard of stone.

It was the uninterrupted view that drew Théadain's eye first, before her eyes darted to what Aragorn's focus had settled on. The White Tree that stood before the Great Hall behind. It was strangely beautiful, she thought, but sadly so. The dead tree was flanked by four Guards of the Citadel, all of whom glanced to them at their arrival, but did not move. It was then that she caught sight of the figure robed in white, standing by the great black doors of the hall.

"Gandalf." She breathed softly as their old friend smiled down at them, her feet swiftly turning to follow Aragorn as he strode towards the wizard. Carefully, she released his hand, allowing him to walk up the steps of the hall unhindered.

"The King has returned to Minas Tirith." Gandalf smiled warmly down at Aragorn, receiving an affectionate hand on his shoulder and an answering smile in return, before the dark-haired man glanced at the doors.

"Go on." Théadain murmured encouragingly as pride swelled in her chest. It was a small gesture, all things considered, to take his first steps into the throne room. Undeclared to his people, it would grant him no additional power or influence, but it was significant. What lay beyond those doors symbolised the end of his path as the man he had been, and the start of the path of the man he was to become.

She thought she saw his shoulders tense momentarily as he braced both hands against the doors, before pushing them open, though as he took his first step onto the marble floor, she saw his frame relax, the tension dropping away in favour of awe.

Smiling, she stood watching him stride slowly down the centre of the empty hall, his gaze drawn to each of the white statues of kings that lined it, but she did not follow him. This was a moment for him alone.

She glanced up curiously as Gandalf approached her side, watching Aragorn's gaze rise to the white throne set upon an elevated dais.

"Denathor?" She murmured softly to the wizard as she noted the empty black chair that sat below the king's throne.

"Dead." He uttered with a certain bitter finality in his tone, so she did not press further, only nodding in response. As her eyes drifted back to Aragorn, she saw that he had turned, his features settled in a determined look, one that made her frown curiously as he strode back towards them.

"Summon Éomer." He instructed Gandalf softly, "And Legolas and Gimli."

As the wizard dropped his head in a gesture akin to a bow, Théadain swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat. Turning to watch Gandalf stride away towards the steps leading down to the sixth level, her eyes unconsciously wandered to the hills in the East - the borders of Mordor.

"It isn't over, is it?"

"No." He answered her whispered question regretfully, looking down at the young woman at his side as she slowly walked down from the steps of the hall. He followed her across the great courtyard, down to where it began to narrow towards the point of the great stone keel that jutted out into the city below.

Bracing her hands atop the wide stone parapet that edged the seventh level, Théadain stared out at the black mountains. Even in the daylight, her eyes were able to pick out that orange glow of fire beyond the peaks.

"You think he will attack again?" She breathed softly, her voice taking on that guarded tone that he had noticed emerged when she slipped into the mindset of the Marshal.

"If given the chance." Aragorn murmured, resting one hand beside hers on the wall and lightly brushing his fingers over hers.

"We wouldn't survive it." She whispered, glancing down to the ruined city below. The defences of Minas Tirith were crumbled, they could not protect the people within from a second attack - and their armies were reduced to a mere fraction of what they had been. She had not dared let herself linger on the number of Rohirrim she guessed they had lost, certainly tenfold what had been lost in Helm's Deep, with their king numbered amongst them.

For a moment, she longed to flee. To take her riders and get as far from this bloodshed as she could - but the darkness would follow. Just as Saruman's forces had followed them to Helm's Deep, Sauron's would hunt them to the ends of the earth.

A glance to the man at her side froze that longing in place. She could see his gaze hardening as he looked to the East, perhaps as the same thoughts coursed through his own mind. She could not leave him.

Gently, she reached for his hand where it rested on the stone before them, curling her fingers around his in a silent assurance that she was with him, no matter what.

As long as he wanted her.

Biting her lip at the thought, her free hand drifted to seek to chain around her neck, a gentle tug freeing the Ring of Barahir from beneath her mail and allowing her to soothe her thumb over its surface. It was an action that Aragorn did not miss, and she felt his eyes on her even before she glanced up at him.

She still needed to give him her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and once again apologies for the delayed update! We're into the final ten chapters of the story now, hope you're still enjoying Théadain's adventures! X


	61. Chapter 61

_**Chapter 61** _

  
"Théadain?"

Aragorn's soft murmur of her name drew her eyes to his face as she twisted the ring through her fingers. She could see the question in his eyes, though he had never voiced it in words.

"I..." She huffed out an unsteady breath, glancing down at the grey gravel beneath her feet and scuffing the toe of her boot through it thoughtfully. "Aragorn, my choice is certain – it is _yours_ that I question." She admitted softly, raising her hand to halt him as he opened his mouth. "I need to be sure you have considered..." She swallowed thickly and reached to catch the chain around her neck, her fingers fumbling under her hair before his sure hands stilled them, gently unfastening the chain for her and letting her slip it from her neck. Carefully, she caught the ring in her palm and laid it on the stone wall they stood before.

"Have you truly thought about this? About me?" She whispered after staring at it for a long moment, "Aragorn, I... You are asking me to be your queen and I am so afraid I would be _terrible_ as one... And very likely a terrible wife." Running one hand through her hair she shook her head, fighting against the emotional waver in her voice; "I am stubborn- I could not vow to always obey you. I have none of the grace or talent a queen should have, I don't leap at the prospect of giving you heirs because the thought terrifies me – and even if I did, I would likely be an awful mother because I barely know what it is to have one. Yes, my blood is half-noble but a king's bastard is nothing remarkable – I don't know nearly enough about how I should behave because I am a _soldier_." Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her palms down hard upon the stone wall to ground herself, "I would embarrass you... I don't know a thing about politics or leading a Kingdom – I know war and horses and swords. Even if we survive this war, I won't _live_ as long as you will; I don't even know if I would survive bringing your child into the world, and if I do – if I live out all of my years by your side – I will still go before you do."

Pausing for breath, she fisted her hands where they were braced on the wall before her, blinking rapidly as she stared down at the Ring of Barahir. "I am not _worthy_ of you, Aragorn."

A tiny, aching part of her – the part that knew she would inevitably fail him in some way – hoped she had persuaded him, hoped she had made him see that she did not deserve this life he offered her. The part of her that knew it was easy to refuse something she knew would be taken from her anyway, whether in this awful war or when he finally realised that she was not what he needed.

Though a much larger part of her so desperately feared that she had pushed him away in the same way she had done when he had found her in Edoras. The sentiment was much the same though, the hope that driving him away from her would keep him safe. Not from a physical danger this time, but safe from the regret of choosing to spend his life with the wrong person. Still, if she had succeeded in doing so once more, she did not think she could survive that heartbreak. In her heart she knew that she had never wanted _anything_ as much as she wanted to stand by his side for as long as he wanted her.

She heard him release a long, thoughtful breath as he seemed to realise the torrent of words spilling from her mouth had ceased. She could feel those keen grey eyes watching her but could not bring herself to meet them.

"May I speak now, Théa?"

She nodded wordlessly at his question, her fingernails digging into her palms as she braced herself to hear him agree with her words.

"These... Qualities that you see in yourself Théa, I see them too." Aragorn murmured gently, "I know you are stubborn – frustratingly so, even now – you would never obey a command you disagreed with. That is only because you are so determined to do what is _right_ , Théa. You know your own heart and mind, and both are strong and true. So yes, you are stubborn." She could not help herself from glancing at him curiously at the faint smile she heard in his voice. Opening her own mouth to protest, he raised a hand just as she had done to him, and so she bit her tongue and waited.

"Your graces and talents I know well too, though they may have more place on the battlefield than in a royal court, that is where I value it more. I cannot understand though, why the Third Marshal of Rohan doubts herself as a leader. Not when she is so adored by her people and can summon her knowledge of the old oaths the moment she needs it." Pausing, he reached to gently lay his hand over hers, "And though you are ferocious in battle, you are kind, gentle and so fiercely loving that I have no doubt that whatever children we may have will love you in equal measure."

Carefully, he reached to gently tip her chin up so that she had to look up into his face, her heart fluttering wildly as he held her there, captivated in his stormy, gentle gaze. "You are the daughter of kings, Théadain. You are fierce, strong and loyal, but you are just as gentle and fair. You are worthy of more than I can _ever_ offer you. I love you, and I have thought about this since the moment I realised as much. I would give up a lifetime of a thousand years to spend a single one by your side."

"I...You are certain, then?" She managed to whisper, though her voice wavered traitorously in the face of his earnest, reassuring words.

"I have never been more certain of anything."

A small, breathless laugh bubbled past her lips at the smile that broke across his face with his answer. "Then I suppose I will simply _have_ to marry you."

Théadain felt his grin against her lips before she had the chance to glimpse it, as he pulled her into a searing, desperately loving kiss, holding her tightly in his arms as they stood together high above the city, and beneath the shadow of Mordor. For one small, precious moment, Théadain felt the darkness could not touch her. Her heart thrilled at the feeling of his lips on hers, how tightly he held her to his body. Curling her arms around Aragorn's neck to hold him closer, she did not dare think that they may never get the chance to be wed. In her mind it was as good as done, she was his eternally.

As she regretfully broke from his lips, starved of air as she was, she saw Aragorn reach for the ring that she had left on the wall before him. She laughed softly as he took her hand, shaking her head, "It fits your hand better than mine, my love."

Chuckling softly, he nodded, reaching for the chain she had discarded and threading it into place once more; "Keep it safe for me then, Théa." He murmured, carefully sweeping her hair back from her neck to fasten the chain in place. Once again, he lightly touched his fingers to the bruising at her throat, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Later." She promised softly, waving his hand away. There had been no opportunity to speak of the battle, but it would come – after the council he had called of their friends.

* * *

Despite his concerns over her injuries, Aragorn had led her back into the Great Hall to await the arrival of the others. He could not help but smile as he had watched her wander through the throne room, her gaze drawn by the marble statues of his forbearers.

"You will truly be happy here?" He questioned softly as she had glanced back to where he stood in the centre of the hall.

"If we live long enough?" She smiled wryly, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked up to the high ceiling. "It is so unlike Edoras... But I did not love Edoras for its buildings." Dropping her gaze once more to his concerned face, she smiled reassuringly, if a little sadly; "I will always love my homeland, Aragorn, but if the race of Men endures, it will not be the _my_ Edoras anymore."

He nodded in understanding, reaching out a hand to her as he strode across the hall towards her. Gently settling his hands on her upper arms, he laid a tender kiss on her brow; "I am sorry that your father fell, Théadain. He was a good man."

"He was." She agreed softly, blinking rapidly against the tears that threatened to pool in her eyes; "I... It is how he would have wished it to happen... He would have hated to waste away."

"He loved you." Aragorn assured her gently sweeping away a tear that escaped her eye even as she managed to smile weakly at his words.

"He wanted me to say yes, to you." She smiled softly, leaning into his hand as he smiled lovingly down at her. "So, yes. If we live long enough to take up these halls, I will be happy here – with you."

As Aragorn leaned in to rest his forehead against hers, wordlessly expressing his joy that she had chosen to remain with him, they were disturbed by the sound of the great black doors being pushed open. Stepping back to allow her to greet her friends and cousin, he could not help but smile at the affectionate greeting each received, even as Gimli scolded her for slipping away from his watch the night before.

Part of him could not bear to think of what he would have to ask of them. To suggest another fight so soon after the last battle seemed a cruelty, but he could see no other way – save for hiding behind these stone walls and waiting for death to come to them. As Gandalf strode towards him, he met the wizard's gaze grimly, clearly seeing that the same thoughts plagued his mind.

As his companions gathered around him, he listened to Gimli recounting his conquests in the battle to Théadain as the young woman moved to seat herself on the steps leading to the throne; though Legolas' expression was more sombre, the elf could not help but softly comment on his perceived inaccuracies in the dwarf's account. Turning away, Aragorn settled his sights on the statue of Isildur that stood vigil over the hall.

"Gandalf." He murmured softly to the wizard, "Was there no word of Frodo?"

"Some days past." Gandalf confirmed, "Faramir, Denathor's son, met him and Sam in Osgiliath."

"Boromir's brother?"

Théadain's soft voice entered the conversation, alerting him to the fact that the others had fallen silent.

"And now Steward of Gondor." Gandalf confirmed, turning to nod to her; "From there he believes they hoped to take the pass of Cirith Ungol – and from there into Mordor."

"Do we know that they made it through?" She asked hesitantly, her fingers reaching to habitually toy with the ring hanging at her chest. The irony of its placement was not lost on her, now as they spoke of Frodo.

Gandalf released a long sigh before shaking his head, "Frodo has passed beyond my sight." He admitted, beginning to pace thoughtfully across the hall, "The darkness is deepening."

"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it." Aragorn assured him firmly.

"It's only a matter of time." The wizard muttered, his tone all but resigned to their loss, "He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping."

"Let him stay there. Let him rot!" Gimli grumbled from where he had settled himself comfortably in the Steward's chair, "Why should we care?"

"Because ten thousand orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom." Gandalf informed him sharply, as Théadain winced at the number.

"It is a number we have faced before – and claimed victory over." She tried to reason as the wizard shook his head.

"But two Hobbits cannot. I have sent him to his death."

"No." Aragorn turned to face the group, feeling Théadain's gaze flicker to him as he looked to Gandalf, "There is still hope for Frodo." He reasoned gently, "He needs time, and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?" Gimli frowned, voicing the thought that Théadain already suspected she knew Aragorn's answer to.

"Draw out Sauron's armies. Empty his lands." Aragorn explained, his eyes darting to Théadain and seeing a grim understanding crossing her features. "Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

As Gimli choked on his pipe in shock, Éomer strode forward, passing his cousin as she sat before the white throne. "We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms."

"Not for ourselves." The would-be King conceded. "But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us... Keep him blind to all else that moves." As he turned to look back to the companions he had started this journey with, Théadain offered him what she hoped was a supportive smile.

"A diversion." Legolas murmured in understanding as Gimli gave a low chuckle.

"Certainty of death, small chance of success, what are we waiting for?" The dwarf grinned sardonically as Théadain huffed out a small breath of laughter. It was indeed almost laughable, that they should have endured so much only to throw themselves into Sauron's grasp.

"Sauron will suspect a trap." At Gandalf's low murmur to Aragorn, she glanced up, listening intently, "He will not take the bait."

"Oh, I think he will." Aragorn smiled knowingly, drawing back a little from the wizard; "We ride with the second dawn, summon every able-bodied man in the city." He looked to Éomer, who nodded in understanding, before glancing back to Théadain. "We will need all the force we can muster."

"You have Rohan's support." His betrothed smiled back at him softly, even as she tucked away her question regarding his certainty that Sauron would march out his forces to meet them. Rising to her feet as he glanced pointedly to Gandalf, indicating that he needed to speak to the wizard alone, she moved to lay her hand on his arm; "Don't do anything reckless – or, nothing more reckless than what we have already planned." She whispered, pressing onto her toes to lay a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth, before moving to follow her cousin as he strode from the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was about time these two got their act together! Thank you for reading, as always! X


	62. Chapter 62

_**Chapter 62** _

  
It was an unfamiliar feeling to Théadain, not quite knowing where she belonged.

As evening had drawn in around the city, and Aragorn still had not returned from speaking with Gandalf, she had found herself wandering between the Houses of Healing and the seventh level, trying to decipher what her place was. It was not like her familiar, clear roles in Edoras; here she barely knew where she was going, much less which tasks she could lend herself to. She did not even know where she was to sleep that night.

So, she had found her way back to Éowyn's chamber in the Houses of Healing, as Éomer had assured her that he would inform the men of Rohan of their upcoming march to the Black Gate. A smile of relief had crossed the Third Marshal's features as she saw her cousin sitting up in bed, running her hand over the sturdy bandage that encased her swordarm. The sight of her eased the heavy feeling that had fallen on Théadain, that sense of crushing finality as she thought of the final stand they would make, only two sunrises from now.

"Théadain?"

"None other." She smiled reassuringly at her cousin's call of her name, moving to sit at the foot of her bed and reaching for her good hand, "You look well, Éowyn – less grey."

The blonde woman smiled softly at her cousin's affectionate teasing, though it seemed to only veil the expression of grief that had clouded her features before she had realised she was not alone. Reaching out her good hand to take Théadain's they sat together quietly, each recalling that the last time they had done so, it had been at the side of their dying king.

"Are you well, Théa?" The younger woman asked after a long moment, seeing the faraway look that had come over her cousin.

"As well as I can be." She murmured, schooling her features into a careful smile, unwilling to tell her cousin of what had been decided just hours before, though sensing she had already guessed what was still to come; "I feel as though I am wandering in a daze, as though I have no purpose here yet... I don't know what I should be doing, I just... I wish I could speak with my father." She swallowed thickly and glanced out the window, "It's the same when I think of Théodred... I wish they were here."

"They are together now." Éowyn assured her gently, even as her voice wavered slightly, making Théadain tighten her grip on her fingers.

"I haven't been able to bring myself to see him." She admitted softly, glancing upwards as if her gaze could pierce the stone above their heads to look into the Hallows on the seventh level. "When all of this is over, I hope he can be brought back to Rohan."

Éowyn nodded, squeezing her hand a little tighter as her eyes fell on the ring hung around her cousin's neck, "Though you will not remain with us, in Edoras?"

A small smile quirked the corners of Théadain's mouth as she shook her head, reaching to toy with the ring with her free hand, "No, I don't expect I will." She whispered, though she knew that the fact she would not return to her homeland had little to do with her recent betrothal.

"I am happy for you." The blonde murmured softly, though as Théadain looked at her, she could see that a heavy sadness still weighed upon her cousin; "I hope you have the chance to be happy with him."

"Do not think of what is to come with such dread, Éowyn." Théadain murmured reassuringly, "You will see this darkness lift, I am sure of it."

"How can you be?" The younger woman whispered mournfully, "I cannot see an end to it."

"I can." The redhead breathed, knowing she had to believe that though she herself may not survive the coming days, they would give Frodo his chance to drive away this shadow. "You will endure, I know it."

Nodding slowly, her cousin turned to glance out the tall window that faced her bedside, her attention seemingly caught by something in the courtyard. As Théadain leaned over slightly to see what she was watching, a smile began to play on her lips; "Well, if my words will not sustain you, perhaps a handsome face will."

" _Théa_!"

She grinned at the reproachful hiss of her name, for it signalled that her cousin's spirit had not been broken by what she had faced in the battle. Straining to get a better look at the man who stood speaking to one of the healers, she grunted as Éowyn pushed her back. "Do you know his name?"

"I believe it is Lord Faramir." She blushed, resolutely looking away from the window, "The Steward's son."

"The Steward now, I believe." She hummed, more curious than ever to look upon Boromir's brother, though she held herself back, not wanting to fluster her cousin beyond her gentle teasing. As Éowyn leaned back against her pillows, one of the healers entered the room with a soft apology, asking to tend to the dressing on Éowyn's arm.

"I will leave you to rest." Théadain smiled gently as she rose, squeezing her cousin's hand; "I'm glad you followed us, Éowyn. I am certain you changed our fates in that battle." With a final nod, she ducked from the room and allowed her feet to guide her out onto the street that ringed the sixth level.

The question of where to go now still hung over her. Had she stood in Edoras, she would have felt no discomfort at the thought of lingering in the Golden Hall, the stables, or retreating to the sanctuary of her chambers. Here though, the thought of striding into the citadel with the same sense of familiarity felt wrong, presumptuous even.

That lingering feeling of not knowing her purpose still weighed upon her, she felt as though she was adrift in a tide, unsure of which shore to swim for. On one side lay the grief and fear she had set aside, knowing she could not process it yet, on the other lay preparation for a battle that she knew this time would be her last. Battle and preparation were what she knew, but not in a strange city, where half their force would be men she did not know and had no command over. Above all else she was _tired_. Her body still clung to the ache of exertion, her throat still burned where the pale orc had choked her, her swordarm stiff from absorbing the shock of each blocked blow, her ribs and back gently throbbing with the familiar pain of bruising taking root after her fall from Folca.

Yet she longed to find her way to Aragorn's side once more. If they truly had so little time before their final assault upon the Black Gate, then she wanted – no, _needed_ – to spend those remaining hours she had by his side. Not vainly planning tactics to use in a battle they could not win, nor lamenting the losses of the battle past. She had to hold on tightly to what little life she had left, and at that moment, all she wished for her life to centre around was him.

Unconsciously, she followed her wandering feet up the gentle slope of the street to the steps to the citadel, climbing the flight that led to the seventh level of the city. There were other buildings that lay to the South of the Great Hall, but with the eyes of the guards flicking to her as she walked by the White Tree, she did not feel comfortable exploring them. Lights burned in the windows of the white city, even as the walls were stained shades of grey and blue by the encroaching twilight. It was a beautiful place, she thought, but cold.

Though she could not imagine it had always been so, nor would it be in days to come, if she lived to see it. It reminded her of the shadow that had fallen over Edoras in the days of her father's sickness. The shadow could be lifted, and she was sure that under the guiding hand of a king who valued such things, warmth would return to the halls of Minas Tirith.

For now though, the shadow lingered, its root firmly planted beyond the Eastern mountains.

With a weary sigh, she moved to walk along the top of the great keel, all the way to where a gap was cut in the parapet at the point, offering her a clear view over all the city. Smoke still rose from the smouldering pyres out on the distant battlefield, but the yellowed grassland was mostly cleared, save for the few dark smudges of half-dismantled siege towers, and the hulking bodies of the Mûmakil. Idly, she wondered how long it would take for the field to grow green once more, and if it might remind her of the plains of Rohan when it did.

Huffing out a long breath, she rubbed her hand over her aching throat, the sight of the battlefield reminding her of how little time it had been since she had been in the grips of the fight. Only a day had passed, and only one more remained.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Lord- _Aragorn_!" She choked in alarm at the voice behind her, spinning to find him almost at her side; "You don't need to prowl like a Ranger in the middle of a city." She muttered accusingly as he chuckled at her surprise.

"I did not mean to startle you." He murmured earnestly, though his smile was poorly concealed.

"Mm." Théadain grunted doubtfully in reply as she turned her eyes back to the vista before her; "Watch your step, or I'll reconsider that small 'wife' matter we agreed on."

His bark of laughter was enough to pull a smile to her lips, her façade of annoyance dropping as his arm curled around her waist and guided her to tuck against his side.

"You didn't answer my question."

"It hurts a little." She admitted softly, glancing up to meet his concerned gaze, "Though it's only bruising, and I made sure to retaliate."

"Éomer swore he saw you you bring down a Mûmak single-handedly."

"Actually, I used both hands." She smiled playfully up at him, even as he shook his head with a fond smile, "It was reckless, that was when Folca threw me and bolted, but they were decimating us. I cannot take all the credit, our archers helped."

"I don't believe the World of Men will ever have seen a queen like you." Aragorn smiled fondly as a blush coloured her cheeks.

"Nor will they have seen a king like you." She whispered affectionately, threading her own arm around his waist to hold herself to him as they looked out over the city together; "Do they know you are here, the people?"

"I believe whispers are spreading." He sighed softly, "Though I didn't wish for it to be known until..."

"Until this is all over?" Théadain guessed, her eyes darting to the Eastern hills. At her side, Aragorn nodded, holding her a little tighter.

"I cannot take the crown until I have seen this through, Théa." He whispered almost regretfully, "And if I cannot lead us through this end, then I do not deserve to wear it."

"No one could be more deserving than you." She assured him softly, "They will still look to you to lead this last stand, but you do not need a crown to do so. You did not need it in the Hornburg, nor on the Dimholt Road or through anything you have faced. Men follow you without a shadow of doubt, Aragorn."

He smiled softly, brushing a light kiss over her forehead as she looked up at him; "Will you follow me, Théa?"

"Wherever you lead." She whispered reassuringly, pressing up onto her toes to lay a tender, loving kiss on his lips, her free hand drifting to ghost her fingers over his stubbled jaw. Pulling back with a small smile, she tucked her head under his chin as she felt his hold on her tighten; "Though I should like to know what you plan... What is it you were discussing with Gandalf?"

At her question he stiffened slightly, making her glance up at him once more with a prompting whisper of his name. Sighing softly, he drew her head back down to rest against his chest, laying his own cheek atop the crown of her head; "We were planning how best to draw Sauron out. How to make him send out his full might to meet us and leave the road clear for Frodo."

"Will our presence at the Black Gate not be enough?" Théadain whispered, recalling with a shudder how Sauron had made a very clear threat against her when Aragorn had laid his hands on the Palantir in Edoras.

"I need to be certain." He sighed softly, "We must make him believe we are riding in earnest to destroy him, and not as a diversion."

"How will we do that?" She asked softly, curling her arms a little tighter around him.

"The Palantir." He muttered grimly, "I will have to face it again."

"Aragorn..." She breathed, looking up in concern as he shook his head.

"I must, Théa. He will have to react if I confront him... I will be ready this time. He will not be able to use you against me." He assured her gently, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"When?" She asked reluctantly, clinging to him a little tighter as if she could shield him from the trial he was to face.

"Tonight. It will give him time to mass his full strength at the gates."

"Oh good." She muttered sarcastically, drawing a breath of cynical laugher from Aragorn as she looked out over the city. "Do you have some time, before you face it?" She asked, more softly, almost pleading him to remain with her a little longer.

"A little, but you are tired." He guessed, sweeping a strand on her hair from her face and tucking it tenderly behind her ear, his gaze wandering over the dark shadows that blossomed under her tawny eyes.

"I have nowhere to sleep." She smiled wryly, shrugging a little.

"Gandalf has had quarters prepared." He assured her gently, "It did not feel right for me to take up the House of the King tonight."

Nodding, she let him lead her back towards the Great Hall, guiding her with a gentle hand on her lower back to one of the buildings she had noted upon climbing to the level earlier. Through white marble corridors he led her, passing black arched doorways and a few patrolling guards until he stopped by one, opening it graciously for her but pausing by the entryway.

"Will you stay?" She asked softly, glancing into the comfortable looking room. Guest quarters for visitors of the Steward, she imagined. Though furnished with fine, dark fabrics, with a tapestry of the White Tree hanging above the bed set against the far wall, the room still held a little of that chill she felt throughout the city.

"Not tonight, Théa." Aragorn whispered regretfully, moving to stroke his fingers over her pale cheek; "I must go, and it is growing late."

Her heart fluttered as he cupped her cheek tenderly, bending to lay a loving kiss upon her lips as his other braced against the doorway. A soft sound of longing escaped her lips as he pulled away with a small smile; "Rest, my Théadain." He whispered, lightly brushing his fingers over the ring that hung around her neck, before turning to stride back down the corridor, towards the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a kudos/comment if you're enjoying the story! X


	63. Chapter 63

_**Chapter 63** _

  
She did not hear the door of her chambers being quietly opened, in the early hours of the morning. Nor the low sigh that fell from Aragorn's lips as he stood in the doorway, watching Théadain sleeping soundly, curled on her side in the large bed. He had told himself that he did not need to see her, that he _knew_ she was safe, but after what he had seen in the Palantir, he needed that reassurance. Hours he had spent pacing the hall, gathering his nerve and strength before he had approached the Orthanc-stone. By the time he had laid his hand to it, the hour had drawn close to dawn.

It had been immeasurably worse this time, the vision he had been shown. Though he had been so careful to hold his thoughts steady, to focus only upon steeling himself against Sauron, the dark lord had not forgotten the moment of weakness he had shown in Edoras. Even as Aragorn had sensed him recoil at the sight of the reformed blade that had cut him down once before, he had retaliated with an image ringed in fire and dredged from Aragorn's darkest nightmares.

He had _heard_ her scream.

Though here she lay, breathing steadily as she lay amidst the tangle of bedding, the fingers of one hand caught in the chain around her neck, one delicate finger slipped through the ring itself. It reassured him beyond belief, seeing her sleeping so peacefully.

The room felt warmer than it had done when he had left her, and as he quietly stepped across the stone floor, he glimpsed the smouldering remains of a fire, banked in the white hearth set into the wall opposite her window. In the gentle glow of the remaining embers, her hair shone like beaten copper. She must have washed, he realised, glancing at where her mail and clothing from the battle were hung over a chair, her body now clothed in what appeared to be an oversized tunic, undoubtably discovered in the heavy wooden chest that stood, still open in a corner of the room. It grounded him, to stand there tracing the evidence of how she had readied for bed, the thought of the mundane tasks doing more than words could to push the image from his mind of her laid out, staining the dust of a battlefield scarlet.

Bending by the hearth, he lifted a fresh log to set it gently in the embers, bracing his hand against the stone mantle with a weary sigh. The night had drained him of what little strength he had clung to since the battle. A night of pacing through the Houses of Healing and another wrestling with the Palantir had left his eyes heavy, but he could not bring himself to disturb Théadain by slipping into the bed beside her.

Still, as he eyed a chair positioned temptingly near the fire, he knew he would not make it through another day of battle plans without rest. With a resigned exhale, he let himself fall into it, taking a moment to unfasten the sheath of Andúril from his side and propping it against the hearth before he let his head rest against the back of the chair. A final, reassuring glance at Théadain's sleeping form settled his mind enough to let him drop off into an exhausted sleep.

The dawn came, grey and mild as the sun fought to push through the thick cloud that hung over Minas Tirith, veiling the blue of the sky from all below. Still, Théadain woke with a soft grumble, momentarily disorientated by the strange bed and the skewed view of the embroidered White Tree hanging above her, before she recalled where she was. Laying there, taking stock of her various aches left over from the battle, she thought she felt a little lighter, less sore. Her first chance to wash and sleep in a bed since leaving Edoras seemed to have done her good, along with the chance to be alone, to let herself process and cry for what she had lost, for her father. Yes, she felt a little lighter this morning.

Sitting up to run a lazy hand through her hair, she started a little, but then smiled fondly as her eyes landed on the intruder to her room. He looked exhausted, she thought, slumped in the chair angled close to the still-smouldering hearth, still fully dressed in his coat and boots, save for the sword leaning against the wall. It was a relief to see him though, after she had dropped off to sleep with thoughts of how shaken he had been by his last encounter with the Palantir, so she could not argue with his manner of resting, simply glad that he had chosen to rest at all.

Rising as quietly as she could, she padded over to the chest of assorted sheets and clothing she had raided the night before, pulling out a man's shirt of deep, Gondorian blue. Idly, she thought of the beautiful embroidered tunics and jerkins she had left in Edoras as she dressed for the day, shrugging on the leather jerkin she had worn under her mail as she glanced at Aragorn's still-sleeping form. Bending to tug on her boots, she mused that she had rarely seen him sleeping before. On the nights they had stolen together in Edoras, she had always drifted off before him, and he habitually had woken before her. Even when they had travelled together as part of the Fellowship, each member had spent the nights so tightly bundled in their cloaks against the cold that she would never have thought to watch him sleep.

He looked peaceful though, despite how clearly battle-worn he was. As though the weight that rested on his broad shoulders was lifted, if only for a few hours. His body that was always alert, coiled in readiness like a spring, was now relaxed, in the way she had only seen in the hours they had spent laying tangled together in her bed. She could not bring herself to disturb him, not when he so clearly needed this rest.

As quietly as she could – though not as silently as an elf or Ranger – she crossed the room to lean out the open window cut into the stone wall. Folding her arms on the ledge, she scanned her eyes over the Southward view it offered, following the twisting form of the Anduin river as it snaked into the distance, glistening even in the weak light of the morning. It felt a lifetime ago since she had last glimpsed that river, though further upstream, above the roaring Falls of Rauros. It was strange to think that on the banks of that river she had first fallen into Aragorn's arms – or rather, she thought with a smile, determinedly placed herself there – where she had sworn to herself that she would not fall for him, that sharing a few stolen kisses was simply them seeking a moment of escape from the dangers of their quest.

She was a fool, she thought as her hand rose to toy with the Ring of Barahir, smiling fondly at her own naivety. Had she not so consistently doubted herself, they might have reached this conclusion sooner. Had she allowed herself to always love him as fiercely as she did now, and not allowed herself to be held back by her fears and reservations, they might have had a little more time together. It would not have changed the paths they had taken in this war though; they would have still found their way here to Minas Tirith, and from this point on to the Black Gate with the next dawn.

From the angle of her window, she could not see the Eastern mountains that loomed beyond the plains, and she was glad of it. She did not need such a visible reminder of what they would face this time tomorrow. Exhaling softly, she leaned out a little further, seeing just how far South she could watch the river flow, just as a gentle hand ran up her back, settling between her shoulder blades.

"When the wind blows from the South, you can smell the sea."

"I would like to see it, someday." She smiled in response to the low murmur in her ear, leaning back into Aragorn's chest as his arms circled her waist.

"I will take you." He promised softly, "We will ride to every corner of Middle Earth, if you wish it. From the Southern Seas to the Northern Kingdoms."

"The Northern Kingdoms?" She hummed curiously.

"Arnor." He explained gently, holding her securely to his body as he pressed a kiss into her sweet-smelling hair. "The Kingdom of the Númenóreans."

"I thought the kingdom was broken after the War of the Last Alliance?" She frowned, groping through what little knowledge she had of the history of that land, her own learning always focused on the realms closely linked to Rohan.

"Broken, but not abandoned." Aragorn smiled gently down at her; "Where did you think I wandered in all of those years as Strider?"

"I was led to believe you were bothering Hobbits." She smiled playfully, laughing as he tightened his hold on her waist to make her double over slightly; "Enough- I will learn, tell me." She giggled, meeting his smile as she straightened, laying her hands on his as they settled around her waist once more.

"The Dúnedain Rangers are all that are left of the Númenóreans in the North." He hummed as he explained.

"You travelled with them; I remember you told me on the night we first spoke." She reminded him fondly as he reached to card the fingers of one hand through her long hair.

"I am their Chieftain, Théa." He informed her softly, smiling at the surprise that crossed her features.

"You never told me as much."

"You never asked." He chuckled, "And I had already told that smiling young woman too much that night."

"Not enough." She retorted fondly, "It seems I still have much to be curious about."

"I have no secrets from you, Théadain." He whispered tenderly in her ear, "Only too many stories for the time we are given."

"It seems the time we have been given grows shorter the longer this war drags on." She sighed regretfully, settling her eyes on the distant river. "I only hope that what we do tomorrow may allow others to endure."

"We have to believe it will." Aragorn matched her more sombre tone as his thoughts too turned to the oncoming fight. "If fate is on our side, and Frodo takes the chance we give him, then perhaps our race will endure this darkness."

"Even if _we_ don't?" She glanced up at him hesitantly, turning in his arms to lay her hands on his chest. He smiled sadly down at her, brushing a stray copper curl from her eyes.

"Even if we don't." He echoed softly, touching his lips to hers lightly in the hope of easing her fear of what must come.

*

As peaceful as the sanctuary of her room was, as the day wore on, duty called the Third Marshal of Rohan and the man that would be King. Before the dais of the white throne, tables had been arranged, laden with maps as the last commanders of the armies of free Men planned their final assault.

"We should station a number in the city, and at Osgiliath." Théadain murmured thoughtfully as her fingers traced over the detailed map of the realm before her, her free hand brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face and tucking it back into the messy knot atop her head. "In case any slip past us, I don't want the city left vulnerable."

"It is vulnerable enough, even now with our full force behind the walls." Éomer muttered, reluctant to agree with any choice that involved defence behind stone walls, after the devastation he had seen after his arrival at the fortress of Helm's Deep.

"Still, enough to keep the people safe." She insisted softly, "We cannot evacuate the entire city in a day, and we cannot leave them defenceless."

"Station archers at the crossroad."

The Shieldmaiden glanced up as another large hand joined hers on the map, nodding at the suggestion of Faramir.

It had unsettled her at first, when the man had first walked into the hall at Gandalf's side. He looked so very like his older brother, though softer spoken and gentler in manner. As she had looked upon him more, the feeling of being confronted with an image of Boromir eased, even if the younger man's chiselled jaw and bright eyes did so loudly echo the Gondorian that had saved her life.

"The crossroad?" She questioned softly, her eyes falling back to where his finger marked a point on the map.

"Between Osgiliath and Minas Morgul." He clarified gently; "Should a counterattack come from the Morgul Vale, they could meet it head on, before it reached the rear of our army or the city."

Théadain nodded, glancing to Éomer and meeting his gaze of approval as both understood why Gandalf had insisted upon fetching the Steward from the Houses of Healing, despite the fact that his arm was still in sling and his complexion still pale after what she understood was a severe injury in battle. His knowledge of the lands was superior to any in the room, save perhaps Aragorn.

Aragorn, who had stood so quietly by her side as they planned, at times wandering around the tables, but rarely speaking unless to offer his approval of a plan. In those moments she had met his gaze, her heart fluttering at the look of pride she found there as he watched her.

This was what she was good at, after all.

"Our forces." She murmured thoughtfully, looking to Éomer, whom she knew had been in contact with Gamling and Folhelm that morning. "What can Rohan offer?"

"Four thousand uninjured, for certain." He murmured grimly as she swallowed thickly at the heavy loss they had sustained; "Perhaps another thousand if we gather those not too gravely injured."

Shaking her head, she bit her lip; "Those are the men that could remain behind." She suggested, her finger tracing across the map back to the sketch of Minas Tirith.

"What of Gondor's men?" Aragorn's voice broke her thoughtful haze as he looked to Faramir and Gandalf.

"A similar number, perhaps less." Faramir provided regretfully after looking to the wizard; "None of my company survived our charge on Osgiliath whilst it was taken."

"Leave a few that know the city's defences well." Aragorn decided, "The rest we will need along the road."

"How many will we approach the gate with then?" Théadain frowned, her eyes darting to the North-westerly point of the ring of mountains that encircled Mordor.

"We can hope for six thousand." He murmured grimly, watching as her hand curled into a fist against the map.

"Six thousand." She echoed softly, drawing back from the maps to rub her hand over her jaw. "And we guess Sauron still holds a force greater than ten thousand orcs?"

"Orcs... Trolls... And his Nazgûl." Éomer muttered as he watched his cousin turn to pace across the hall, linking her hands behind her head as she looked to the ceiling, as if expecting to find guidance written there.

"Can we knowingly lead six thousand men to certain death?" She breathed, turning to look back to the men stood around the maps. The gazes she met confirmed the answer that had already settled upon her. They must. If Sauron did not believe that they were throwing their full might at him, that they fully intended to attempt to overthrow Mordor, then it would all be for nothing.

"There is no other way, Théadain." Gandalf confirmed regretfully, as he watched the young Marshal drop her arms, though one reached to thread her fingers through the chain at her neck.

"I know." She sighed, glancing to Aragorn as he braced his hands on the table he stood over. It was a curious contrast, the man clothed in the dishevelled garb of a Ranger stood before the gleaming white throne. Yet a certain nobility, a commanding air radiated from him in each subtle movement, every quiet word, drawing respect from those around him without ever asking for it.

It almost hurt, how much she loved him.

"It is decided then." He sighed softly, straightening to meet the eyes of those that stood around them; "Éomer, prepare the Rohirrim. Faramir, appoint a commander and then return to your rest." His features softened as he looked upon the recovering Steward, "I will need you here in the city, should the battle go ill."

For a moment, she thought the Gondorian was preparing to protest, before he inclined his head in acceptance, seeing the truth in Aragorn's words. Should the heir to the throne fall, Gondor would still need the steady hand of a Steward to guide it through whatever may come.

As Théadain watched the forms of her cousin, the Steward and Gandalf walk from the hall, a long sigh left her body. It still felt as though they asked too much of their men, to face this evil with them. Yet she knew that if they did not, those men would still die at the hands of Sauron's forces. She knew herself that she would rather be given the choice to fall in one final act of valour with a sword in her hand, instead of cowering in the shadows and waiting for death.

Still, that choice left them with so little time.

"It isn't fair." She whispered aloud, listening as Aragorn's steady footfalls reached her side as she stared out the open doorway of the hall.

"No." He agreed softly, looking down at the delicate features of his betrothed, gently furrowed in a small frown of concentration as her fingers twisted the ring at her throat.

Turning, she looked up at him almost urgently; "Marry me, Aragorn."

Despite the gravity of their earlier discussion, a small chuckle escaped his lips as he looked down at her; "I thought we had already agreed as much."

"Then let it be done." She breathed, turning to take his hands, "If I am to die by your side tomorrow, let me go as yours." She squeezed his hands as she looked up into his grey eyes pleadingly;

"Let us go with one thing that Sauron _cannot_ take from us... Marry me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh just a little cliffhanger to leave you on!  
> Hope you're still enjoying the story! X


	64. Chapter 64

_**Chapter 64** _

  
Théadain had never taken the time to give much thought to her wedding day, not in the way she had seen other girls her age daydream of it.

There was simply never occasion for it, her plans were more firmly focused on training and riding, and later as she took up the post of Marshal, patrols and raids, defence and attack. The men surrounding her were her comrades, brothers in arms, her friends. She had neither the time nor the use for a husband. Her life was complete within the borders of Rohan, fulfilled.

Still, in the fleeting moments where she _had_ considered it, she had never visualised it taking place anywhere other than Edoras. If she _must_ be wed, logic would dictate it be to a man of Rohan. Perhaps a captain of similar rank to her, for she could not respect a man who could not appreciate the effort taken to rise to the rank she had, nor her passion for the role.

She had imagined she might have had time to do more than run a comb through her hair, that her boots would not still be caked in the mud of a battlefield as she stood before her betrothed.

She had imagined her father would be there.

Still, the elements that mattered - _truly_ mattered - exceeded anything she could have imagined.

As the sun had sank low in the West, just visible behind the mountains that Minas Tirith rose from, it had gathered the strength to break through the heavy layer of cloud, staining the sky over the city in the most glorious fiery hues.

In the shadow of the White Tree, the citadel guards dismissed, Théadain, daughter of Théoden, was wed to Aragorn, son of Arathorn. It was quiet, unassuming. Had it been witnessed by anyone other than the smiling wizard that conducted the simple handfasting, it might not even have been realised what the event was.

Yet it was perfect; a modest, intimate agreement. Not between a great King and questionably high-born Lady, but simply two war-weary lovers pledging themselves to one another for what little time they may have left. A moment that was theirs alone, to cherish and keep, to give them the strength to face what might come.

No, Théadain thought as Aragorn had drawn her into his arms and kissed her so lovingly that her legs weakened, she could not have imagined it would be this way.

Yet in that moment, she could not have imagined anything more perfect.

Gandalf had left the newlyweds there, alone in the courtyard high above the city. Locked in Aragorn's arms, her head laid upon his shoulder, they had watched the last rays of the sun vanish from their view. They would not speak of tomorrow, but quietly he whispered to her tales of things that had passed. The histories of the lands he was heir to, the tale of the White Tree that they were wed beneath. Gradually, his words turned to hopes of days beyond the present - his hopes of reuniting the Númenórean kingdoms, of renewing the old oaths and seeing days of peace settle over Middle Earth.

Smiling softly as she listened to his optimistic words, she held herself a little tighter to him - to her _husband_ , she thought with a small thrill. It was strange to think the word, yet exciting, comforting even. She wanted to cling to this moment, this feeling, for as long as she lived. Glancing up, as he murmured softly to her, his eyes fixed upon some distant point beyond the mountains, she committed each feature of him to memory. He still looked every inch the Ranger she had fallen in love with, _her_ Aragorn. Still devastatingly handsome in that unfair rugged, dishevelled way that he carried so well. There was a particular, joyful gleam in his captivating grey eyes tonight, a certain curve to his lips as he spoke. The heaviness that had settled upon him in the hall that afternoon had lifted for these precious few hours.

She did not doubt that she had a similar expression fixed on her face, indeed her cheeks almost ached with how constantly she had smiled that evening - but she could not stop.

A gentle breath of laughter alerted her to the fact that she had been caught staring up at him like a moonstruck rabbit. Biting her lip to hide her sheepish smile as she met his eyes, she hugged herself to his side as his arm tightened around her waist.

"Are you happy, Théa?" He softly echoed the question he had asked her once before, standing in the cool night air of Edoras, the first night they had spent together.

"Beyond words." She assured him with a smile; "More than I could have ever thought possible."

"As am I." Aragorn hummed, gently turning her to walk with him along the edge of the parapet. Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifted their joined hands to coax her to twirl beneath his arm, grinning at the joyful laugh that tumbled from her lips as she did so. Remembering the laughing girl that had demanded he dance with her through the Golden Hall in Edoras, he drew her close once more, laying a hand on her waist to guide her in slow, meandering steps across the courtyard. Understanding his intention, his young wife smiled up at him as she made a gallant effort to not tread on his feet.

Though there was no music, and no haze of ale to mask her inhibitions, Théadain found she needed neither as they laughed their stumbling way across the courtyard. A yelp of surprise fell from her lips as his arms locked around her waist and lifted her off her feet.

"I would be grateful if you stopped treading on me, my love." He grinned up at her as she draped her arms around his neck.

"Never." She giggled, ducking to lay a loving kiss upon his lips; "Did you not accuse me once of living to challenge you?"

"Perhaps I did." He breathed into her lips as he tightened his hold on her, drawing her back down to kiss her soundly.

Gradually, as her hands found their way into his hair and the deepening kiss began to draw small, longing sounds from her throat, his smile had returned, carefully setting her on her feet once more. A soft groan rumbled from his chest as she insistently pressed her body to his, practically purring as his large hands splayed against her back, holding her closer still.

"Shall we retire, my love?" She whispered, threading her fingers through his hair as she ghosted her lips over his. "I have heard some _excellent_ things about wedding nights."

Her husband did not answer her with words, simply choosing to sweep her legs from under her with a grin, scooping her into his arms and laying a fervent kiss upon her lips as he carried her to her chambers.

*

Neither could bring themselves to surrender to sleep that night.

Even in the heady, satiated moments of silence between the loving whispers - whispers that so easily flowed into moments of renewed ardour - Théadain could not allow herself to close her eyes. She could not bear to let a second of their time together slip away with something as mundane as sleep.

There was an intensity between them that she could not put into words, something desperate and urgent, yet determined not to rush, to cherish and cling to what little time they had. Every kiss, every touch or murmured word between them was precious, yet they never said as much.

Even as she had lain with her head pillowed on his chest and had first heard the low notes of song that fell from his lips, the gentle elvish words accompanied by his hand lazily combing through her hair could have so easily lulled her into a pleasant sleep, but she listened. She had not heard him sing since that first night they had spoken in Rivendell. It felt like years had passed since that evening, when he had first trusted her with his name, yet it had only been a matter of months. A change of two seasons was all it had taken to completely divert the carefully planned course of her life.

She did not ask what he sang of, though when she turned to look to his face, she saw his eyes were fixed upon the Western window nearest the bed, tracking the path of the dark clouds against the midnight-hued sky. She thought, for a moment, that in the flickering light of the fire he had lit some hours ago, his eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Then, with a heavy blink, he glanced down to meet her gaze, his expression softening as he drew her close to kiss her temple.

"I wish I knew something other than bawdy drinking songs." She pondered aloud, with a small smile, "Beautiful elvish verse is much more befitting of a King."

Laughing softly, he rolled to trap her beneath him, leaning heavily on his forearms as she made a poor attempt at trying to wriggle free; "I have never heard these songs."

"I am glad- they are not fit for your noble ears." She grinned, "All tales of amorous young horsewomen and the trouble they get into."

"Tell me." He prompted teasingly as she shook her head with a laugh.

"Let me drink my fill of ale first, and then we shall see."

"I will hold you to that promise, Théa." Aragorn grinned, lowering himself to capture her willing lips once more.

In that way, caught between moments of boundless desire punctuated with quiet intimacy, the night slipped away from them. As they had lain together, brushing light, reassuring touches over each other's skin, both had noticed the sky beginning to lighten outside the sanctuary of their quiet chamber. Saying nothing, though knowing what they now must face, Théadain had slipped from the bed, indulging in one more lingering kiss as she did so, before moving to wash and ready herself.

She had recovered her armour and sword from where they had been left in the Houses of Healing when she had first been brought there after the battle, but had resolutely refused to let herself look at them as they sat in a corner of the room. It had only been an unnecessary reminder of what was to come. She had not wanted to think of that on her wedding night.

She had heard Aragorn rise behind her, the sounds of him splashing his face with water at the pitcher and bowl on the room's sparse dresser grounding her as she looked to her armour. She had never thought as much before, but now it looked so desperately _heavy_.

Still, she would have to pull it on soon enough, that much she knew. Catching up her haphazardly discarded clothes from the night before, she dressed, momentarily losing herself in the familiar tasks of tugging on her boots, lacing the front of her jerkin. As she moved to lift a borrowed comb from the dresser where Aragorn stood in his shirt and breeches, running his hands futilely through his now-dripping hair, she smiled fondly up at him. Wordlessly she took his hand to lead him to the chair by the hearth, settling him there as she moved to carefully dry and comb through his tangled hair. As much as she adored his ruggedly dishevelled appearance, she understood that it was not exactly befitting of a King leading his forces into battle. A few deft twists of her fingers drew the long strands back from his face as he leaned into her hands, his eyes falling peacefully closed as she secured those wayward strands.

Laying a tender kiss on his forehead, she shifted to kneel by his side, slipping her hand into his; "The sun is rising, my love." She whispered, regretfully breaking that intimate silence they had shared.

Nodding, he sat up a little, tightening his hold on her smaller hand in a way that he hoped was comforting. They could not hide away from the world any longer.

"The armoury." He murmured, raising her knuckles to his lips to kiss them softly. Part of him longed to ask her to stay here, to hide her from the darkness that lay beyond the city walls, to protect her in whatever way he could. Yet he knew that would be a betrayal of her devotion, both to him and to her people. She deserved her place at the head of this - their own Last Alliance - as much as he did.

He stood, releasing her hand to let her gather her own things. Slinging her mail over her shoulder and tucking her sheathed sword beneath her arm, she looked as though she were preparing for any other patrol, yet the faraway look in her eyes betrayed the fact that her thoughts lay elsewhere. As she lifted the last of her possessions, he turned to lead her to the doorway, pausing for a moment to draw her into a tender, loving kiss, determined to savour the last few seconds they might have alone.

The royal armoury was silent though, Aragorn needn't have feared their solitude being disturbed so soon. In the stillness of the white marble room, he watched Théadain move quietly around, seemingly knowing what it was he would need beyond the practicalities of mail and toughened leather that he so often favoured.

By the time she had finished carefully helping him fasten the shining steel epaulets to his shoulders, over the tabard emblazoned with the image of the White Tree, the room was beginning to fill with light, spilling in from the Eastern window. With gentle hands, Aragorn helped Théadain fasten her own armour, smoothing his hand over her soft hair as she stood before him.

"I suppose it is time, then." She whispered as she looked up at him, tracing her fingers over the leather vambraces he had strapped to his forearms, the ones he had carried with him since Amon Hen - Boromir's. Standing before her now, dressed in armour truly befitting of a king, it was almost startling how noble he appeared. He even seemed to stand a little taller before her, the dark colours of the tabard highlighting the shining steel of his mail, and the rich burgundy lining of the cloak fastened at his shoulders. The favoured hues of deep Gondorian blues and silver were a stark contrast to the earthen tones of gold, green and brown in her Rohirric armour, but it was fitting that they should stand together.

"It is." He agreed softly, having already heard the sounds of footfalls beyond the door of the armoury, knowing that their precious time alone was to end. Carefully, he pulled her into his arms once more, cupping her jaw gently as he caught sight of the glistening tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. "Théa..."

"It just isn't fair." She whispered, her voice wavering slightly as her hands moved to smooth an imagined crease from his tabard. "This war has taken _everything_ ; my brother, my father, Boromir... Now it's going to take the future I had never dared to dream of."

"But it cannot take what we have shared, what we are to each other, Théadain." Aragorn assured her gently, his voice drawing her eyes back to his; "You said it yourself, Sauron cannot take this from us." With the hand cradling her face, he gently guided her lips to his, letting himself indulge in one last, loving kiss before they faced the world beyond those doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh my heart!  
> Thank you so much for all of the lovely comments and kudos I've received this week, they truly all mean so much and I really hope you're all still enjoying the story! X


	65. Chapter 65

_**Chapter 65** _

  
The grey hues of the sky would have lent a sombre tone to the day, even without the task that lay at hand. Barely a word was spoken as the army filed from the city, each soldier lost to their own thoughts. Their memories of their departure, and their fears of what was to come.

The mind of the Third Marshal of Rohan was preoccupied with her hasty exit from the city, the brief, tearful farewell she had managed to take with Éowyn as they had descended from the upper levels of the city, the small murmur of congratulations from Éomer, casting her a knowing smile as they had mounted their horses at the gates. It seemed that whispers still spread, even upon the eve of battle. As she had walked through what was left of her own company, she had exchanged soft words of reassurance, of thanks that they still chose to stand with her. She could not summon the will to make any sort of rousing speech, she had exhausted that energy in their previous battles. Still, she ensured that the men who had always stood by her knew what it meant to her.

Even Folhelm, who had always had an easy smile to share with her seemed subdued, though he didn't miss the opportunity to cast her a wink as he overheard her speaking with Éomer. It was enough to pull a smile to her own lips as she settled in Folca's saddle. She was certain that had it been any other day, she would have had to endure merciless teasing from her company when news of her impromptu marriage was made known.

Not that it appeared to be any secret to those she loved anyway. As they rode out, Legolas and Gimli had moved to her side, saying nothing but seeming particularly pleased with themselves nonetheless as they shot pointed glances between her and Aragorn. Even Merry and Pippin, mounted with Éomer and Gandalf respectively, managed to fire her a grin as she had moved to the head of the column, taking her place at Aragorn's side.

At her husband's side.

She offered him a reassuring smile of her own, her brief waver of courage in the armoury laid aside. She only wished to show him support now, to let him know that she was here with him, to whatever end.

Though she could not resist leaning in as Folca had fallen in to stride beside Brego, smiling as she whispered to him; "I don't believe I mentioned it, but you look devastatingly handsome this morning."

It had been enough to pull a smile to his focused features, one he cast her way as he shook his head fondly at his wife, before setting his gaze ahead as he led his army to the Morannon, the Black Gate.

* * *

It was dreadful.

Not that Théadain had expected the gateway to Mordor to look inviting, but as they had come into sight of the Black Gate, a shudder had passed through her. The air was heavy with the stench of sulphur, the noxious fumes that rose from the mountain of fire and settled on the surrounding lands, preventing anything good or green from growing. She had never stood in such a foreboding place, and this was only the gateway.

She could feel eyes on her, but could see no watchers on the two great, black towers that flanked the long gate. Still, she knew they were there, for Aragorn had sent their threat, Mordor knew to expect them. Before the gates, the land was a ruin of broken stone. Scree and dust made up what was to be their battlefield, but it was preferable to the marshlands that lay to the West of their position.

It was strange to think, that had the Fellowship not split above the Falls of Rauros, she might have found herself standing before these gates months ago. Had Merry and Pippin not been taken, they would have undoubtably followed Frodo and Sam to this point.

Perhaps Rohan would have fallen if she had not returned to her homeland, perhaps the Fellowship would have been caught by the enemy and the quest failed, or perhaps they might have succeeded, and the world would have been at peace by now.

It was no use pondering what might have been, she thought. They were here now, taking their last stand.

On the battle plain of Dagorland that lay before the gates, the last army of free Men fell into ranks, the soldiers of Rohan and Gondor standing shoulder to shoulder. As she rode before their ranks, casting her eye over their formation, her eye was caught by the hundreds of banners, flying proudly in the breeze. It was an impressive stand, if a futile one, she thought. Six thousand swords and spears, six thousand shields, six thousand frightened men.

And two Hobbits, an elf, a dwarf, a wizard, an exiled King and herself, she added wryly in her own mind. That had to be worth something.

As she drew up Folca, feeling him anxiously dancing on the spot beneath her amidst the tangible fear and tension in the air, her eyes found Aragorn. His expression was sombre as he cast his gaze over his army, though as his grey eyes met hers, she could see the carefully veiled apprehension that lay there, hidden from the men. At her side, still mounted were Gandalf and Pippin, Éomer and Merry, and of course Legolas and Gimli, all wearing similar expressions of uneasiness as they looked to the gates.

"Where are they?"

The hesitant whisper came from Pippin, seated before Gandalf. Though she longed to whisper a reassuring answer in return, she could not conjure one. Instead she glanced to Aragorn as he turned to the gate, biting her lip as he spurred Brego to canter towards it. As she gave Folca an encouraging squeeze with her legs, her stomach knotted at the thought of getting too close to the gates, but still she followed, along with their companions.

Upon closer inspection, the architecture of the gates seemed somehow more cruel than it had appeared at first. Biting, jagged angles of black metal jutted out like an animal baring its teeth in an intimidating display. As their mounts halted before the imposing frontage, she had to suppress a shiver as they stood in the chilling shadow of the mountains.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" Aragorn's strong, commanding call pierced through her as he addressed whatever eyes watched them; "Let justice be done upon him!"

Once again, she had to smother the shiver that ran through her at his challenging tone, but for a reason entirely separate from her fear.

" _Focus_." Théadain scolded herself under her breath, her fingers tightening on Folca's reins as a low creaking broke the uncertain silence that had settled upon the land. Beneath her, the stallion took an uneasy step back as the gate began to grind open, a great split severing it into halves as it swung outwards – opening just wide enough for a single horse and rider to pass through.

The Shieldmaiden stiffened in her saddle at the sight of the approaching representative. Tall and robed in black, an ambassador whose race she could not tell, for his face was concealed by a great, jagged black helmet that covered even his eyes. Only his mouth lay exposed; a terrible, gaping maw of split skin and pointed teeth.

She had not realised she had sucked in a fearful breath at his appearance, but as her chest began to ache she released it. As she watched the rider pull up a few feet from their group, she wondered if he might have once been a Man, perhaps even an elf – but now whatever evil lay beyond that gate had twisted the being before them beyond recognition.

"My master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome."

The gravelly, growling voice that emerged from the unsettling mouth beneath the helmet chilled her to her core, fighting with herself to force her eyes not to dart away, to seek a less frightening image. She could not show any weakness now.

"Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?" That unseeing face turned, as if scanning over the riders before him. She had thought that Aragorn might speak then, but it was Gandalf's voice that answered, strong and unwavering.

"We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed." He stated firmly, his reassuring voice easing a little of Théadain's discomfort. "Tell your master this; The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

The expression that curled the ghastly mouth of the rider almost led her to believe he might laugh at the wizard's words. Indeed, his reply was mockingly given; "Ah- old greybeard." He grinned, reaching for something within his robes, "I have a token I was bidden to show thee."

The object he held aloft before them stole the breath from Théadain's body. Even in the weak sunlight, the shirt of mithril shone dazzlingly. She had not glimpsed the garment since it had been revealed beneath a linen shirt, deep within the Mines of Moria, the only thing that had saved their Ringbearer from being impaled by the cave troll.

"Frodo..." The whisper had fallen from her lips before she could hold it back, her expression betraying her shock and anguish at the revelation. He had been caught; _the enemy had Frodo_.

They had failed, the quest, the Fellowship, all of it. If Sauron had found Frodo, then he had the Ring.

She barely heard the heart-wrenching cries of Merry and Pippin as the shirt was tossed to Gandalf. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she tried to rein in the rising wave of terror within her.

"The Halfling was dear to thee I see." The speaker for Sauron sneered, "Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host... Who would've thought one so small could endure so much pain?" At his words, tears misted in Théadain's eyes, hot and angry as she wrestled with her fear, allowing rage to take its place. "And he did Gandalf, he did."

As her hands tightened further on Folca's reins, enough to turn her knuckles bone-white, Aragorn urged his horse forwards, approaching the representative of Mordor.

"And who is this? Isildur's heir?" He snarled, looking Aragorn up and down as he drew close; "It takes more to make a King than a broken Elvish blade-"

In a flash of steel and a single, fluid motion, that grotesque head was cleaved from its body. A gasp was snatched from Théadain at Aragorn's cry of rage, his eyes burning with it as he watched the antagonising creature's body slump.

In any other situation, before any other foe, it would have been unforgivable. To cut down an ambassador of an opposing force in the midst of negotiation was an indefensible crime of war – yet as she met Aragorn's frantic eyes, she understood. Indeed, had she not been frozen in terror she might have lashed out herself.

"I guess that concludes negotiations."

The wry mutter from Gimli did little to elevate the tension and choking air of loss that hung over the group. There was an uncertainty now within Théadain – if Frodo, and presumably Sam, had been caught, what were they to do now? Did they stand and fight, or flee in the knowledge that Sauron would pursue, returned to his full power?

"I do not believe it. I will not."

Aragorn's insistent words drew her eyes back to him, swallowing thickly as she remembered the words he had spoken when they had first planned this assault. If Sauron had the Ring, they would know it. He would not be able to resist showcasing its power, they would not be left in doubt like this.

If that was the case, if the Hobbits still endured, then there was hope. Reason to stand.

That same terrible grinding sound split the air, causing Théadain's stomach to tighten as she saw the gates begin to open wider, the steady rhythm of thousands of marching feet audible just beyond.

At Aragorn's urgent order to pull back, she turned Folca, following the route of her companions back to their waiting army as behind them, the Black Gate opened in earnest. She dared not look behind, but as she drew close to her men and the terrified expressions upon their faces became clear, she could well imagine what they faced. Indeed, as she approached, she saw them taking a few uneasy steps back from the oncoming force.

"Hold your ground!" Aragorn's cry rang out clear over the thunderous sound of an army bearing down upon them. As Théadain turned Folca to join their ranks, her eyes landing upon what approached, she froze. All her years of training, all her experience in battle could not have prepared her for the open view of Mordor that lay before her.

They had underestimated the force that marched upon them, so vastly underestimated it. It seemed that their meagre army faced down a number that was ten times as great as their own. An ocean of steel and orcflesh – and above it all, the Eye.

Wreathed in fire atop the distant tower, Théadain needed no explanation to know it. The mere sight of it struck such icy terror into her heart that for a moment she could not even breathe. A crushing weight of hopelessness settled upon her as she hung caught in the spell of the Eye of Sauron.

Until Aragorn's voice drew her back.

"Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan – my brothers!" He called, riding across their ranks as he addressed them determinedly, commandingly. "I see it in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me." His eyes blazed with a fire of determination that rallied her spirit, it allowed her to draw in a breath that did not tremble, and helped her hands hold steady on the reins. "A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight!"

She could feel it behind her, the rising courage of the men, fuelled by the impassioned words of their leader, their King. As he turned Brego, Aragorn's eyes fell to her, and she prayed that she looked as courageous as she was trying to be, as courageous as his words made her feel. She had been right not to offer her men a speech that morning, she could not have matched the force of his words.

Drawing himself up once more, his gaze turned back to the army; "By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

As he raised his sword, Théadain gripped her own, sweeping it from the sheath at her side as she felt the last of that awful terror leave her heart. She was still afraid, yes, but it would not hold sway over her. She would not bow to it in this final hour. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been another hot minute since I updated, I'm aiming to have the whole story posted before Christmas so watch out for those final 5 chapters!  
> Thank you as always for the lovely comments and kudos, hope you're still enjoying the story! X


	66. Chapter 66

**_Chapter 66_ **

  
It was a relief to find that her legs were not shaking, as Théadain found herself standing before the oncoming tide of foes. Their horses had been set loose, and if the creatures had any sense of self preservation they would run far from this awful place. She did not doubt that Gandalf's loyal mount, Shadowfax, would know to lead them to safety. They had not released them a moment too soon, as the enemy forces soon made it clear that they intended to completely surround the meagre army before their gates – to block all routes of escape before they stepped forward to attack.

It was agonising to watch, to wait.

"Where now the horse and the rider?" The low whisper fell from Théadain's lips as she summoned her courage, the voice of her father echoing in her mind as she stared down the armies of Mordor. There may be none left to speak the Lament for the Rohirrim after this day, but in that moment, the words leant her the strength of her people. The strength to make one last stand.

Adjusting her grip upon the sword in her hand, she ran her other hand through her hair. She had foregone her helmet that morning, knowing it would make little difference if she wore it or not. Her end would come, and she would rather meet it freely, with her view of the sky uninterrupted, her motion and hearing unhindered.

She could almost hear the Horn of Helm Hammerhand echoing on the wind, the memory of the war cries of her people, bellowed by the voice of her father.

_'Forth Eorlingas!'_

At her side stood her companions, her friends, her family. Merry and Pippin, bravely grasping their own short swords as they faced down the endless clamour of orcs. Éomer, who had reached to lay a reassuring hand on his younger cousin's shoulder before drawing his blade, receiving an affectionate, grateful smile in return. Gandalf, whose heartening presence was unfaltering, even now as he stood before the greatest evil he had ever faced. The gruff, determined form of Gimli, that had so often surprised her with his gentle nature on their journey, flanked as ever by the quietly capable, ever graceful Legolas. The fond words she overheard exchanged between the elf and dwarf warmed her heart as her eyes travelled finally to the man stood before her.

Around them, the marching feet of Mordor's armies had fallen silent. She could see him scanning their ranks, his expression fixed in one of grim determination, though as she reached to lay her hand on his arm, it softened, his eyes lowering to her face with the smallest of smiles. It was almost apologetic, the way he looked at her. As if he regretted bringing her to this point.

"There is no where else I would rather be, than here by your side." She breathed earnestly, her hand tightening on Aragorn's arm. "This is where my path has led, and I am grateful for every step that brought me here."

Stepping closer, she pressed up to lay a soft, light kiss upon his lips; "I love you, Aragorn." She whispered, not caring who saw, be it the men behind them, the armies before them, or even the great Eye atop its tower.

"Théa..." The breath of her name from his lips was almost lost as he cupped her cheek and drew her in to a final urgent, yet deeply loving kiss. "I love you." He echoed her words softly as he withdrew reluctantly, sweeping his thumb affectionately over her jaw as he stepped back. Breathlessly, she smiled up at him, hoping it was reassuring as she tightened her grip on her sword. There was nothing more that needed said. It was time.

Watching the man she loved turn back to the force before them, she saw his gaze pull upwards to the black tower that loomed over the lands before them. Taking a step forward, his swordarm lowering, he seemed caught for a moment in the gaze of the Great Eye, before he turned back to his companions.

At the sight of the unshed tears shining in his deep, grey eyes, Théadain found her own pricking with the same emotion, the same determination that she saw shining there. Though her heart hammered in her chest, she could not bring herself to acknowledge her fear, nor any regret in her heart, for none of it mattered. Not now, as they took their final stand.

"For Frodo."

With that last, encouraging murmur of words, Aragorn turned, raising Andúril high as he charged fearlessly towards the waiting lines of Mordor.

A cry of defiance Théadain had not imagined she could summon left her lips then, clasping her sword with both hands as she followed her husband into battle, though she was outstripped by the two Hobbits that ran before her. She could not count the steps it took, nor would she be able to recall her thoughts as she ran towards the enemy, all she knew was the thundering roar of their army behind them, as the Last Alliance of Men threw themselves into the fray.

The forceful clash of metal and flesh itself was almost familiar to Théadain at this point. The snarls and yelps of orcs and the yells of men all blending into the terrible symphony of battle. The sound of steel meeting steel, and then steel meeting flesh. Spinning and ducking, driving on and leaping back, the sound led her in an instinctive dance, one that she knew only too well.

Black blood splattered the Shieldmaiden's face and hands as she fought, her hair flying like a cloud of fire as she desperately forced herself through the lines of orcs. At first, she had battled fiercely at her husband's side, whilst he was still within her sights, but as their enemies closed in around them, they were separated. She could not allow herself to linger on him though, her only driving thought to keep moving, to refuse to be pushed back. Her sword, her fists, elbows and feet; every weapon she had at her disposal was utilised, her body settling into the familiar routine of tensing and relaxing with each delivered and absorbed blow.

It was tooth and nail, frantic and messy. The stakes had never been higher. For though she knew that she defied death with each breath she continued to draw, each moment she bought herself by bringing down a squealing orc, she knew those moments were not for her. Some blade, some arrow or other cruel, twisted form of metal already had her name etched on it, nothing she did could prevent that – but each second she spent dodging it was another second for Frodo.

Her desperate focus was unbroken by the sounds around her, there was only the next blow, the next enemy to strike down – until the terrible screech split the air. The sound that struck fear, cold and dreadful into her heart.

Staggering with the shock of her body's visceral reaction to the sound, Théadain raised her head with a grimace of anticipation. She knew the sound, and knew to dread it.

As Sauron's remaining Nazgûl bore down on the battlefield astride those horrific winged beasts, she forced her body out of its frozen terror. She could not stop now. Looking about herself at the helmeted Gondorian solider fighting at her right shoulder, hearing the distinctive war-cry of Éomer rising somewhere to her left, she drew the strength to press on, even as her eyes frantically tried to track where the claws of the first Fell Beast would sweep through their ranks.

Then, as a secondary cry ripped through the air, she flinched in anticipation of whatever new terror was to be rained down upon them – but her breath caught in her throat at the flash of claws and feathers that engaged with the Nazgûl bearing down upon them in a stunning display of aerial force.

"The Eagles!" Pippin's cry somewhere nearby was unmistakeable amidst the screeches. It was hopeful, a precious light of optimism among the raw violence of battle.

With a renewed cry of vigour, Théadain raised her sword to meet the downward strike of the orc barrelling towards her, her focus firmly set on the swift motions it took to reduce her enemy to a lifeless heap upon the battlefield. Though a part of her desperately wanted to, she could not let herself think of where her friends stood, what they might face. She could not think of Aragorn.

Unconsciously though, her feet carried her through the battle to find herself taking a desperate lunge to the side to knock back an orc bearing down upon Pippin's turned back. Huffing out a breath of relief as she kicked the limp body off her sword, she caught the Hobbit's eye and offered him a smile of reassurance – only to see his expression fall into one of horror, his eyes widening as they settled on something behind her.

Instinctively she spun, sword raised to meet the foe – yet she misjudged. Her block set too high, whilst the orc went low.

She saw it before she felt it. The shock came first, then the pain came screaming to the forefront of her consciousness, dragging the world around her to an agonisingly slow pace, as if she were trying to run through water.

The spearhead was driven with such desperate force into her side, just between her ribs and hip, that it tore through her mail. Had she stood an inch further away, it would have glanced off her breastplate, but as the orc followed through it gouged cruelly over her flesh to leave a deep gash in her left side.

Though the strike of her own sword fell true, it was wrenched from her hand as the orc fell with the blade still lodged in its neck, leaving her staggering in a sickening moment of disbelief as her eyes fell to the spear that tumbled to the ground, its jagged head stained crimson.

A roar filled the Shieldmaiden's ears that had little to do with the battle as her mouth fell open with a silent scream of pain. It was blinding, white hot. Instinctively she clamped her gloved hands to her side as she buckled over, unable to hold back the agonised gasp the action dragged from her lips, as the shattered rings of her mail were forced into the pulsing wound, biting the already torn flesh.

"Théadain!"

As she dropped to one knee, the world lurching and swaying nauseatingly around her, Pippin's face swam in her vision. His expression of frantic terror mirrored the one he had worn as he had watched Boromir fall before him, so very long ago.

_'It is over... The world of Men will fall, and all will come to darkness.'_

This couldn't be it, not now. She couldn't let herself stop now.

Dragging in a ragged gasp, Théadain shook her head, forcing her wavering gaze to focus, her hand driving down a crushing pressure on her wound to ground herself and attempt to slow the unstoppable pulsing blood loss. She could feel it even through her glove.

"Sword." She gritted out through clenched teeth, reaching out her right hand as Pippin scrambled to jerk it free from the orc that he had watched run his friend through. "Go on Pip." She gasped as he pressed it into her hand, driving the blade into the ground and using it to force her trembling legs to straighten.

"Théa no-"

As he hesitated, she swung out with a desperate cry, clumsily forcing back an orc that had lunged at the Hobbit. Grimacing as a choking wave of pain crashed over her at the motion, she staggered, dragging her gaze back to him as she pressed down harder on her side.

"Keep going Pippin." She panted out, even as the metallic tang of blood danced on her tongue; "Frodo needs us."

She couldn't move quickly enough. It was crippling. Driven as she was by the need to keep fighting, her strength was failing her, her head spinning, drifting between the world before her eyes and the fog of pain. She couldn't follow Pippin's form as he was lost in the fray. She could barely keep her hand pressed to her side as she staggered in place, trying to hold that dusty patch of ground that was rapidly staining scarlet.

_'Where now the horse and the rider?'_

A fresh wave of blinding, blistering agony bowled into her as she ineptly blocked a blow, receiving a disorientating knock to the side of her head that sent her crashing to her knees. The ground was so red beneath her, the sight making her tremble uncontrollably even as she drove the point of her sword into the earth, leaning heavily on it as she clutched her side.

_'Where is the horn that was blowing?'_

A breathless, choked sob of frustration passed her lips as she stared at the ground, swaying with the effort of keeping upright. Accepting as she had been, she didn't want it to end this way. She was still needed, Frodo needed her, Aragorn... _Aragorn._

The helpless sound that the thought of him pulled from her was lost in the desperate clamour around her, though none of their enemies seemed concerned by her kneeling form. She was not a threat to them now. Frantically she tried to look, to catch a glimpse of the man she loved amidst the fray, but it was hopeless, they had parted ways too long ago, he would be far from her now.

_'Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?'_

Her head jerked up as the most frantic, piercing screech tore through her body, unable to place its source as she knelt amidst the chaos of the fight.

A scream was suddenly wrenched from her as a heavy foot landed on her wounded side, the force of the kick knocking her onto her back as her hand tightened stubbornly around the hilt of her sword. She would not die without it in her hand.

_'Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?'_

The orc that had set its sights upon her loomed in her swaying vision, but it was not looking at her now – its gaze had been pulled back in the direction of the Black Gate by that awful screech. She drove the blade upwards with a last, desperate cry of effort. Her arm buckled under the sudden weight of the creature falling, driving the air from her body as the corpse landed heavily on top of her.

It might be alright now, to close her eyes. The thought wandered through her pain-numbed mind as she wheezed out a groan. She was so very tired now, even as one hand still resolutely tried to stem the flow of blood from her side. Perhaps she had fought enough, perhaps it was alright to rest a little.

_'Where is the Spring and the harvest, and the tall corn growing?'_

It felt as though she was listening to the sounds of battle through a heavy wooden door, it was muffled, echoing hazily as she struggled to draw in her laboured breaths beneath the weight of the orc. She wasn't sure, but she thought she could hear shouting – it didn't sound like the usual cries of battle. The world around her spun and lurched uncomfortably as she looked up at the sky, unable to tell if the ground was truly shaking or if she was simply losing her already tenuous grasp on her awareness.

_'They have passed like rain on the mountain... Like a wind in the meadow.'_

Or perhaps it was the tears clouding the Shieldmaiden's vision that made everything waver and tremble, as she lay futilely trying to prevent herself from bleeding out on the dusty battle plain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear...  
> You won't have to wait too long for the next update, I promise! X


	67. Chapter 67

**_Chapter 67_ **

  
" _Frodo!_ "

The victorious cry rang out clear from Merry as Aragorn staggered, staring into the depths of Mordor in disbelief. He had seen it with his own eyes, the great tower of Barad-dûr had crumbled. He had watched as the Eye flared in what had almost seemed like panic as it had fallen – and then erupted in that great shockwave that had cut through the land. He had felt it barrel into him, swayed against its force as the land was purged of that great power. He had seen the armies of Mordor flee, as the black land they had emerged from had fallen into ruin.

Sauron was defeated. He was gone.

Though what little elation had begun to settle upon him was swiftly snatched away. As quickly as he realised that Frodo and Sam must have succeeded, as quickly as that euphoric elation had come, he saw that the Hobbits could not have survived the completion of their quest. As the mountain of fire had erupted in a vicious blast of heat and stone, the heart of the man had seized in his chest that already ached from his grapple with the troll. A fight he did not doubt he would have lost, had Frodo not succeeded in ending the battle – the entire war.

Yet he could not have prepared himself for the crushing blow he was still to be dealt.

It was Pippin's cry that alerted him, for until that moment he hadn't dared to doubt that she was safe. He could not have allowed himself to imagine anything less. But at the heart-wrenching sob of her name from the Hobbit, panic flared within him.

"Théadain?" The yell of her name was torn from his lips, harsh and frantic in his fear as his eyes searched for her. It was then that he saw the Hobbit desperately trying to lift the body of an orc, scrambling to push it off something. Someone.

He barely felt himself make the wild dash across the battlefield to fall at her side, nor did he fully realise that a second, despairing roar of her name had left his body as his eyes landed on that flash of copper hair, and the bloodstained earth beneath her.

"Théa... Théa!" The desperate cry was all he could muster as he pulled her limp form into his arms. It was the vision from the Palantir played out before him, Sauron's threat, now his final blow against him. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. His hand trembled as he cupped her pale cheek, feeling as if his very soul had been torn to shreds as he cradled the lifeless form of his love against his chest.

And then she groaned softly, her brow furrowing in a grimace of pain as she was jostled in his arms.

"Théa?" He almost choked on her name as a breath of indescribable relief forced its way from his aching chest. She was _alive_.

"She's hurt- Aragorn, her side..." Pippin's panicked tones reached his ears once more as he remembered he was not alone, his eyes darting to where Théadain's hand was resolutely pressed just above her left hip, her glove saturated with blood. His relief at finding her alive was short-lived as he tried to assess the wound, masked by her ruined mail as it was.

"Don't..."

The weak groan of protest from her lips jerked his head up from his examination of her injury, his wide eyes meeting a pair of lidded tawny ones as she looked up from where she was cradled in his arms.

"Théa..." He breathed, cupping her cheek once more as she blinked heavily, as if it took great effort to keep her eyes open.

She smiled weakly as she gazed up into the frantic, tearful eyes of her husband; "I... Is it over? Did we...?"

"It's over." He breathed reassuringly, soothing his thumb over her jaw; "Frodo did it." He could not bring himself to tell her of what he feared had become of the Hobbit, not now as she seemed to weak, so dangerously close to being taken from him.

A quiet sound, almost one of surprise left her then, pulling a weak smile to his lips even as his hand moved to press firmly over hers, his heart hammering frantically as he felt the sickening warmth of her blood seeping between his fingers. It drew a hiss of pain from her, the added pressure, but he did not doubt that if she had not been pressing on the wound herself, she would have bled out long before he reached her.

If he was to save her, they needed to act now. A glance to Pippin had the Hobbit scurrying away, he only hoped he had the sense to find help. To have one of the healers they had left in Osgiliath sent for, to call for a horse, something. Anything that would prevent him from losing the love of his life.

Swiftly he tugged his cloak from his shoulders, carefully drawing their entwined, bloodied hands away from her wound to press the fabric to it, hoping it would be more effective in holding the bleeding at bay. He replaced his own hand atop it, holding it down firmly as he cradled her in his other arm. He needed so much more than a bundled cloak.

"Aragorn..." Her quiet, insistent breath of his name made him hold her a little tighter, seeing that her eyes had filled with tears; "Aragorn it hurts..."

"I know..." He soothed, pressing an urgent, desperate kiss to the top of her head; "I know my love, you'll be alright though, I swear it."

"If you can't..."

"Don't you dare, Théadain." He whispered firmly, gazing into her tearful eyes as he fought against the tears in his own; "You're going to be alright. I won't let you go."

"Stubborn." She choked on what might have been a laugh, though it was lost in a gasp of pain as an involuntary shudder rippled through her. Carefully he hushed her, soothing his hand over her hair as she squeezed her eyes shut.

He could hear footfalls around him now, urgent calls and shouts, but it washed over him as he focused on the woman in his arms, willing her to endure. Praying that whatever abilities he had as a healer would be enough to save her. What good was a prophecy about the hands of the king being the hands of a healer if he could not save the woman he loved?

A frantic call pulled his gaze upwards as Éomer fell to his knees at his side, looking down helplessly at his cousin. "Théa- is she..."

"Shh, Éomer..." She huffed out a scolding breath as her eyes focused on him, relief flickering in their tawny depths even as he breathed out a sigh of relief at hearing her voice. As Éomer reached for his cousin's free hand, Aragorn saw him frantically reining in the expression of raw grief that threatened to overcome his noble features, the same one he had worn when they had discovered Éowyn on the Pelennor Fields. What he felt was clear in his eyes though, unmistakable, for it was the same choking terror that had sank its cold claws into Aragorn's heart.

"She needs to get to Osgiliath." Aragorn informed him softly, keeping his voice as level as he could as he watched the horseman nod anxiously, his eyes sweeping over his cousin's injuries before he scrambled to his feet, rushing to seek some way to help them.

Though as he thought of the long ride back to the ruined city, he feared that no horse could carry them swiftly enough.

"Aragorn I..." Théadain's weak whisper drew his attention back to her, seeing her delicate features once more contorted in pain; "I love you..." The choked, frightened words that left her lips then made him clutch her all the tighter, his heart hammering as her hand closed over where his was pressed against the cloak stemming the flow of blood. It was sickeningly reminiscent of the moment he had knelt by her side in the Hornburg, as she had frantically tried to stop Baldan bleeding out on the stone floor. He remembered locking his hand over her bloodsoaked one, feeling her fingers trembling with fear that she would lose her friend. They trembled now too. He remembered trying to comfort her, though knowing he could make no promises. He could not promise that he could save a life. He could not even promise himself that he could save _her_.

"Aragorn..."

"No goodbyes, Théa." He insisted tearfully through clenched teeth, tears escaping from his eyes as her expression twisted with pain that he could not shield her from. He _had_ to believe he could save her, for both their sakes.

"I'm so tired..."

"It's alright, Théadain." He breathed, even as panic flared in him at the prospect of her closing her eyes, laying another, tender kiss on her hair as her eyelids dropped. "I won't leave you... I love you."

As he felt her hand go limp atop his, he clutched her tighter, gritting his teeth against the tears that spilled down his cheeks. Steeling himself against what was to come, what they still had to face, he pressed his face to her hair, whispering the only promise he could make once more.

"I won't leave you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter (for the drama) but don't worry, the last few will be extra long to make up for it!   
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! X


	68. Chapter 68

_**Chapter 68** _

  
Sunlight, gentle and warming, cascaded through the high windows of the room, sending shapes and shadows dancing in hues of pink and red behind the closed eyelids of the woman in the bed.

A soft groan escaped her dry throat as, gradually, consciousness worked to chase away the pleasant, drifting sensation of a truly deep sleep. In its wake, discomfort came; thirst, hunger, aching muscles, a pounding in her head, and then the tugging, sharp burn in her side.

She felt her expression contort into a grimace as she shifted, sending a blinding lance of pain through her body, focused white hot just above her left hip.

"Shh, Théa, keep still..."

At the sound of the gentle, concerned voice, her eyelids reluctantly lifted. A low hiss of discomfort passing her lips as the bright light of the sun momentarily made her feel as though her head had been gripped in a vice. As her eyes adjusted to it, a face swam in her vision, though it took several slow blinks before she could focus on the familiar features of her cousin.

"Éo... Éomer." She breathed unsteadily, feeling his calloused fingers slipping into her hand as a tired, relieved smile broke across his features.

"Good morning." He murmured gently, squeezing her limp fingers as he watched her tawny eyes lazily drift around the bright, airy room, her fingers suddenly tightening around his as they settled upon the form of the man slumped in a chair at the foot of her bed, deeply asleep.

"He hasn't slept in days." He explained to his cousin softly, laying a hand on her shoulder to stop her from sitting up in an attempt to look upon her husband. She opened her mouth to say something, but it was lost in a quiet groan as her wound throbbed in protest, pulsing angrily against the tight bandage she could now feel binding her waist. "Don't move." Éomer reminded her, reaching for the pitcher of water at her bedside and pouring a little into a cup. Carefully, he held it to her lips once she had given a small nod to his offer, lifting her head to sip a little before her neck could not hold itself up any longer. Everything felt so desperately _heavy_ , that or she was simply as weak as a kitten.

"What... The battle..." Théadain breathed softly, frantically combing through her scrambled memories. Another soft sound of pain and frustration passed her lips at the memory of the cold steel biting into her flesh; everything that followed that moment was so hazy. She could recall Aragorn's face, his arms around her, he had looked so frightened...

"Don't think of it, Théa." Éomer assured her gently, "Just rest, we have all been frantic – this is the first Éowyn has left your side since you were brought back."

"Sorry..." She breathed with a grimace as she settled her head against the deep, comfortable pillow she rested on.

"What you should really apologise for is your secret elopement." He smiled accusingly down at his cousin, squeezing her hand a little tighter. "Éowyn is devastated that we were not invited to attend."

A small, tired smile fell across her lips at his words, drawing her from her blurred memories of battle to settle on the altogether more pleasant memories of the night that came before. "Forgive me..." She breathed as her eyes fell shut once more, the throbbing in her head reaching an uncomfortable crescendo as she fought to stay awake a little longer.

"Oh I will." He promised her with a fond smile, "I'm simply amazed that you went so quietly, I was always certain I would need to bribe whatever man you settled on with a dowry of horses in order to have him take you off our hands."

He chuckled at the soft, grumbled insult he received in response to his words, running his thumb over her knuckles affectionately; "Sleep, Théa." He breathed softly, "He will be here when you wake, and you look terrible – sleep a little more."

A quiet sound of acceptance, of surrender to sleep assured him that his cousin would be alright, that somehow, she had pulled through the worst. Until the moment she had opened her eyes, he had been so unsure, preparing himself to wake Aragorn should her breathing become too laboured, should it seem that she was losing her fight. It had all been far too reminiscent of the day he had found Théodred at the Fords of Isen, seeing her laid out upon the battlefield. He had seen it in Éowyn's eyes too, the sense that they had seen this before as they had sat vigil over her, whilst Aragorn had frantically paced the room, unable to leave her, unable to do any more than he and the healers already had done to tend to her wounds in Osgiliath. He had never seen the man lose his composure so fully, indeed, he didn't think he had seen fear like it before. Éomer was certain in the night, as he had slept fitfully in the very chair Aragorn occupied now, he had woken to hear the man softly whispering to Théadain, pleading, tearfully begging her to return to him. It had been so deeply personal that he had forced himself to close his eyes once more, unwilling to intrude upon the moment.

She was still so very pale, covered in scrapes and bruises, her eyes ringed with dark circles and her brow still creased in an expression of pain – but she would live. Had the wound been deeper, had it pierced her fully instead of glancing off her side to leave the deep, ugly gash, they would not have been able to save her.

Still, they had done enough. Sauron had not managed to deal them this final blow, had not fully managed to wipe out Théoden's bloodline. She would endure. The last survivor of Rohan's second bloodline of Kings. 

* * *

When Théadain woke again, the light in the room had dimmed a little, no longer sending that searing agony to her head as she blinked awake with a small, pained groan. The wound in her side throbbed, burned and itched, preventing her from slipping back into the blissful comfort of sleep. Though as she felt a familiar, calloused hand tighten around her fingers, she found that she was no longer quite so eager to return to that dreamless escape.

"Théa?"

Her eyes landed on him just as he shifted from the chair Éomer had occupied to kneel at her bedside, a small smile tugging at her lips as she turned her head to meet the anxious pair of grey eyes that gazed into hers.

"Aragorn..."

A careful, yet tangibly desperate kiss was pressed her to her forehead as she breathed his name, his hand clutching hers as he pulled away, those captivating eyes swimming with tears of relief.

For a moment, neither could say anything, as Aragorn moved closer still to rest his forehead against hers, the hand not clasped in hers stroking carefully over her cheek, her jaw, her neck – as if reassuring himself that she was still here with him.

The moment was only broken by the soft whimper of pain that escaped her lips as she tried to shift to press closer to him, stilled by a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You must keep still." He whispered, chuckling quietly at the predictable whine of protest he received, soothing his thumb over her collarbone as he guided his stubborn wife to lay back in her bed; "I spent the worst night of my life piecing you back together, don't reopen that wound and put me through that again, Théa."

"Fine." She huffed with a small, relenting smile, glad to see the worry in his eyes ease a little even as his words sent a painful shudder through her. "How long has it been?" She asked quietly, weakly squeezing his fingers to assure him that she was alright.

"Two days, since the battle." He informed her gently, running his fingers through her long hair. Éowyn must have combed it for her, he thought, noting the lack of tangles.

"Tell me what happened." She insisted softly, seeing wariness flash in his eyes at the prospect of reporting all that had passed to her, as if she was in too delicate a state to hear of it; "Aragorn, please, tell me."

"How much do you remember?" He asked softly, seeing her brow furrow in thought.

"Everything, until it... Happened." She murmured carefully, hoping to spare him the details of that awful moment, the one that she could still see clearly playing out in her mind's eye, over and over. She had truly thought she would die, in that moment.

"Pippin told me." Aragorn breathed, his voice held carefully in check, though she could tell the very words seemed to cause him pain as he looked down at their joined hands; "He told me what he saw."

In response, she tightened her hold on his hand reassuringly, as if to prove that the moment he spoke of had passed; "After that..." She pressed on, drawing in a deep breath and then wincing as it caused her side to tug painfully, "I don't know, I heard... There was this sound, a screech... Then I remember you, holding me."

He nodded, holding her hand a little tighter as he shifted closer. Quietly, he began to tell her of what had passed on the battlefield, of the fall of Sauron and the collapse of the Black Gates. The moments when they had feared the loss of Frodo, and how he had come to find her whilst Gandalf recovered Frodo and Sam from the slopes of Mount Doom. She swallowed thickly as she heard of his frantic ride to the ruin of Osgiliath with her clutched in his arms, dreading losing her before they reached help. He would not speak of the night spent trying to save her, of those desperate moments when he had feared he had not done enough, but she could see it in his eyes, that there was something frantic and terrified there. Something that made her carefully reach to lay her hand on his cheek, though the motion sent a throb of pain through her side.

"I'm here." She breathed reassuringly as he leaned into her touch, "Aragorn, I'm alright."

"I could have lost you."

"We could have lost e _verything_ , and we were ready to." She reminded him, "We knew what we risked. If it weren't for Frodo and Sam, we would not be here."

He nodded, turning his head to lay a soft kiss on her palm, before guiding her hand back to her side, wary of letting her jostle her wound. "Sam is awake, though Frodo is still resting."

"And you? Have you rested?" She smiled accusingly up at her husband as he resumed the soothing strokes of his hand over her hair.

"Enough."

"Liar." She hummed fondly even as her eyes drifted closed at his touches, hearing his quiet breath of laughter in response to her accusations. "You should rest, my love. You can't well be crowned king looking like you haven't slept in weeks..."

"I won't be until you can stand at my side." He whispered lovingly, smiling down at her as his heart lightened at the gentle curve of her lips. She did look better now, he thought, less like she was teetering on the edge of death.

"Ah, give me a day or two then." She hummed playfully, though her words were slowing as she seemed to grow tired, "S'just a bad scratch."

"I have a ruined cloak that says otherwise." He chuckled softly, gently adjusting her pillow as she nestled into it, "Rest, my love."

"Kiss me first." She hummed, opening one eye lazily as she gave his hand a gentle tug, "I've earned that much."

Smiling lovingly, Aragorn bent to cup her jaw and lay a long, tender kiss upon her lips, feeling her make a valiant effort at returning it. Her whine of disappointment as he pulled back drew a breath of laughter from him, prompting him to press his lips sweetly to her forehead. "I will be here when you wake."

"Good... I should like another when I do." She sighed as he drew her blanket up around her shoulders, watching over her as she drifted off into a peaceful sleep, letting her beaten body begin to recover.   
  
  


In the days that followed, Théadain's strength gradually returned, as she recovered from her heavy blood loss and her wound began to heal. She was rarely left without some company in her room in the Houses of Healing, ensuring she never woke alone between the stretches of curative sleep that she often fell into. Gradually, she found the strength to sit up, to listen to the recounts of her friends that sat by her bedside, though Aragorn was never far from her room, regularly reprimanding her for trying to move too quickly, or for daring to try and lift the pitcher at her bedside to pour herself a cup of water. At times it was maddening, his need to shelter her, yet she understood it, when she saw that memory of fear flash in his eyes when she tried to conceal a wince or groan of pain.

He was utterly devoted in his watch over her, so much so that she regularly scolded him herself for each night he slept in the chair by her bed, or kneeling at her side with his head pillowed on her mattress. He could not seem to balance his need to keep vigil over her and taking care of himself, and she could only watch with soft grumbles as his hair grew past the point of management, though his beard continued to fill out pleasingly enough. She heard him often too, outside the door of her room, speaking softly with voices she could not identify – it all seemed to be talk of his coronation, and his insistence that it be delayed. Other times she heard him speaking of the efforts to rebuild the damaged city, and upon his return she would urge him to go, to see what could be done for his people, yet he rarely relented unless she had some companion at her side. She could see that he was torn, between his need to remain with her and his longing to care for the people that now looked to him, though he had not claimed the title of King yet. She could not bear to stand in the way of that.

She had enough to keep her amused though, between Legolas and Gimli thrilling her with their recount of their journey on the Dimholt Road, the easy jokes of Merry and Pippin and the quiet discussions with Éowyn, wherein she was able to draw out the details of her cousins tentative courtship with Faramir – and encourage it shamelessly.

In addition to those visits, it had taken Legolas' hand firmly placed on her shoulder to stop her scrambling from her bed when Sam had slipped into her room one morning. Though he could not prevent her from tearfully clutching the Hobbit in her arms and insisting that he sat with her upon the bed as he recounted his tales of all that had passed since they had separated on the banks of the Anduin River.

It had been the next morning, after leaving Théadain settled with Gimli at her side, Aragorn returned from walking through the city with Faramir, approaching her bedside with a gentle smile to inform her that Frodo had woken. At the fierce insistence of the Shieldmaiden – and the sound advice of Gimli that he should not deny her this – he had carefully helped her stand for the first time since the moment she had collapsed on the battlefield. At her wince of pain, he had almost deposited her back into the bed, but she had firmly persisted. Drawing a robe around her light gown with his help and, leaning heavily into the arm he had wrapped cautiously around her waist, she had allowed herself to be guided to the airy, bright bedchamber where Frodo had lain, recovering from his ordeal.

As she had stood there, clutched to Aragorn's side, shoulder to shoulder with what remained of their Fellowship of the Ring, it truly struck her that it was over. The War of Ring had ended. Against all odds, the ramshackle band of companions that had set out from Rivendell so many months ago had succeeded. The air of relief was tangible, for she knew that until that moment, their Ringbearer would not have known which, if any of his companions had survived their ordeals. For ordeals they had been, there was not a single being stood in that sunlit room whom was unchanged by what they had faced, Frodo least of all. It had been traumatising, heart breaking even; their losses had been numerous, and the absence of Boromir was palpable, made all the more potent by the fact that their journey had come to its end in his city, the one place he had longed to return to.

Though had the Gondorian not sacrificed himself, it was certain that Théadain herself would not have numbered amongst those left in the room. Granted, there were uncountable heartaches and losses she would never have had to endure, yet glancing up into the smiling face of her husband as he watched the four Hobbits eagerly exchanging their tales of adventure, she could not regret setting out on the path that had led her to this moment. As she looked back to her companions, she saw Frodo's eyes fall to where Aragorn held her protectively to his side, a flicker of understanding crossing the Hobbit's features as he recognised the clear devotion between the pair. A fresh smile broke across his features at the realisation, one that was eagerly shared by Théadain as she met the Ringbearer's eyes across the joyful room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She lives! And so we reach the beginning of the end, only one chapter and a little epilogue to go. I really hope you enjoy the end of the story! X


	69. Chapter 69

_**Chapter 69** _

  
" _Please_ let me cut your hair."

"Théa, there is hardly enough time."

"We have all night, and you will only spend that time pacing."

Turning from the very activity that his wife accused him of, Aragorn raised an eyebrow at her as she knelt lazily combing through her own damp hair in front of the enormous hearth. It had not felt so inappropriate to take up the quarters of the King, the night before his coronation, not when it seemed Théadain finally had the strength to move herself beyond the Houses of Healing. There was no need to further delay the event, with her wound beginning to heal in earnest - he had checked despite her protests before she had insisted on being allowed to bathe.

She was anxious though; he could see it. In the way she had hardly been able to keep still since he had guided her into their new home, and how she had nervously checked on the gown of flowing cream silk Éowyn had brought for her to wear in the morning three times now. Tomorrow she would face the people of Minas Tirith as their Queen, just as he would face them as their King. He would be lying if he thought he did not feel the same sense of trepidation, mixed with anticipation at the thought of finally claiming his birthright, but those feelings were not manifesting with quite the same nervous energy as Théadain's.

She looked at him now, her full lips twisting in an expression of fond disapproval as she shifted on the deep fur rug before the roaring fire. It was a curious contrast, this wild creature of grasslands and plains, horses and swords, now wrapped warmly in a heavy robe of midnight blue, twisting a strand of her copper hair as it dried in the heat of the fire. Perhaps it was no more of a contrast than a Ranger of the North, garbed in a velvet jerkin of deep burgundy, his muddy boots polished, his hair combed and pulled back from his features - though evidentially too overgrown for the tastes of his wife.

As she held out a hand to him, he bent to carefully wrap an arm around her waist and lift her to her feet, even as she grumbled softly in frustration at her body's unwillingness to cooperate.

"Give yourself time, Théa." He soothed as she braced one hand against the high mantle of the hearth.

"I'm alright." She insisted softly as she straightened, though kept a careful hold on both the hearth and his shoulder, "Well enough for tomorrow, you admitted as much yourself."

"We can still delay, if you need."

"No." She shook her head, holding herself a little taller to prove her point, "I am well, as are Frodo and Sam; all those who should be there will be, and the people of Minas Tirith will at last be able to look upon their King."

Smiling lovingly down at her, he moved to brush her drying hair behind her shoulder; "They shall, and their Queen too."

"Mmm, though I shall take no new names, Elessar." She hummed fondly even as she reached to critically wind a strand of his hair around her finger. The name, seemingly foretold by Galadriel as the Fellowship had passed through Lothlórien, was the title he was to take as King. "My Aragorn."

"My Théadain." He murmured in response to her loving whisper, drawing her close to hold her carefully in his arms. Of all the names he had taken, and the titles he still had to claim, the one he had entrusted to her under the trees of Rivendell would not be lost to them. He still recalled clearly the smile on her lips when she had first spoken it, how he had curiously enjoyed the way she said it then, and each way she had continued to do so since that moment.

Resting his forehead gently against hers, he closed his eyes, breathing in the warm, comforting scent of her hair as he drank in the first truly quiet moment they had been able to share since their wedding night. A moment that was not marred by thoughts of battle or fears that he could lose her. More moments like this would come, their entire lives stretched before them now. No threatening shadow hung over their time together. Yet this one moment was precious; tomorrow, things would change. Not for the worse, by any means, but change was inevitable. It would be the beginning of a new journey, a new adventure, one that they would meet together.

But for this moment, they were still merely Aragorn and Théadain, as they had been when they had first pledged themselves to one another. As they would be to each other until the end of their days. 

*

Much like the wound that marred Théadain's side, the city of Minas Tirith had begun to heal. Though the scars of battle may still be visible on both in the years to come. Stone could be rebuilt, wounds could be closed over, but in the minds of those impacted by the War of the Ring, scars would always remain.

On this day though, there were no thoughts of battle. Every effort had been made to restore the city to much of its former glory architecturally, but beyond that, there was something more. The chill, the shadow of fear and doubt that Théadain had first noted upon her arrival had vanished. In its place came joy, relief and warmth. Indeed, even the sun seemed to shine all the brighter on this day. No dark clouds spread from Mordor now, and under the clear blue sky, Minas Tirith shone. The White Tower of Ecthelion glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze.

Standing amidst the people of Gondor, Rohan and even lands beyond which had crowded onto the seventh level of the city, Théadain truly understood Boromir's love for his land, for his people.

Though it could not match the love she felt for the man standing upon the steps of the Great Hall, clad so gloriously in shining armour and rich velvets. When he had first stepped before her that morning, the sight of him had brought tears to her eyes, tears that had escaped unhindered when he had carefully lain a delicate circlet of Mithril upon her head, smoothing her hair gently with his large hand as he had lightly touched his lips to hers. She had tried to sweep away those tears, before he had left her in the care of her cousins as he was led away, but standing now with her arm linked through Éomer's, those tears of joy and awe returned.

Steadying herself with a deep breath, she watched as Gandalf lifted the ancient crown of Mithril from where Gimli bore it at his side, the light of the sun glinting off the sliver wings of seabirds that adorned it. That light seemed to shine all the brighter as he lowered the crown onto the head of the man before him.

"Now come the days of the King."

The wizard's voice rang clear over the silent crowd, every eye in Minas Tirith drawn to the noble form of their King as he shared a glance with his old friend. Standing close enough as she was, Théadain smiled at the soft murmur from Gandalf to the man before him; "May they be blessed."

As Aragorn ascended the last few steps, Théadain thought she saw his shoulders rise, drawing in a steadying breath before he at last turned to face his people. The answering cheer from the crowd was deafening, pulling a laugh of delight and pride from Théadain as she joined in their cheers and applause, freeing her arm from where it was entwined with Éomer's as her cousin looked down at her with a proud smile. Her eyes misted with joyful tears as she looked upon him, standing tall, strong and noble over his people, bathed in sunlight yet almost radiating a light of his own. He looked every inch the promised King of Men.

"This day does not belong to one man, but to all." Aragorn's gentle, yet commanding voice washed over her as the people quietened respectfully in the wake of his address; "Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace."

The crowd continued to voice their approval as, from high above in the Tower of Ecthelion, petals of pure, snowy white cascaded down, floating lightly over the King and his people as he began to sing in his gentle, low baritone. Though she did not fully understand the elvish verse, she knew he repeated the ancient words of his ancestor, Elendil. The words he had spoken upon first bringing his line to Middle Earth.

As Théadain watched Aragorn descend from the steps of the hall, she thought her heart would burst from her chest, full as she was with such indescribable love and pride for him. His eyes landed on hers, a breath-taking smile breaking across his lips as he did so, and she was unspeakably grateful for Éomer's gentle hand on her back urging her forward, for she did not think in that moment that she remembered how to use her legs.

Striding to meet Théadain, his large hands catching her elbows to steady her, the world around them seemed to slip away. She could only see him, his smile, his eyes shining with the ghost of a joyful tear as he cupped her cheek gently.

"Behold the King." Théadain breathed softly, mirroring his smile as he leaned in to touch his lips to hers. A breath of laughter passed her lips as he withdrew from the innocent and entirely appropriate kiss; "Is that all I get? After crossing Middle Earth at your side and facing down Sauron himself-"

She was silenced as he tugged her into a passionate kiss, his arms closing around his wife as he lifted her just off her feet, sweeping her in a full circle as she clung to his shoulders, pouring every ounce of her love and devotion into their kiss. With a gentle chuckle he broke from her lips, still clutching her tightly though mindful of her wound - though in that moment she felt nothing but her tingling lips.

"Satisfactory?" He grinned as the sounds of the cheering crowd began to permeate her clouded awareness, bringing a deep flush to her cheeks as she laughed joyfully.

"Fairly, my King." She smiled teasingly as he set her on her feet, unable to resist laying another light kiss on her lips which only seemed to draw a louder cheer from his people. Gently he guided her arm through his so she could walk at his side, nodding his head respectfully to the King of Rohan, even as Éomer grinned fondly at the lovestruck expression painting his younger cousin's features. Slowly, Aragorn led her through the crowd, paying homage to those that they passed; Faramir and Éowyn - the latter of which received a playful wink from her cousin as she noted their entwined hands - Folhelm and Gamling, stood before the men of Rohan that flanked the soldiers of Gondor, and then Legolas, leading a party of elves that had arrived in the city the night before. Aragorn greeted their friend with a soft murmur of thanks, laying an affectionate hand on the elf's shoulder as Théadain smiled up at him gratefully, knowing there would be time to speak properly later.

As Legolas stepped aside to allow the elves that stood with him to come forward, an expression of delighted surprise crossed Théadain's face as she glimpsed the figure of Lord Elrond, flanked by his sons. Embracing Elladan and Elrohir in turn, she laughed as Elrohir passed a quiet comment about how the twins held themselves responsible for her present happiness - perhaps they could, she mused with a smile, remembering their subtle involvement in those first days she had known Aragorn. Turning to their father, she smiled as Elrond reached for her hands.

"Thank you." She breathed softly to the elf that had first urged her to follow this path, to join his council and in turn, the Fellowship. He only offered her a knowing smile in return, as Aragorn bowed his head respectfully to the elf-lord and received one in return before he guided Théadain on.

As the crowds of people parted for their King, she caught sight of the reason he had not lingered in discussion with their friends. Smiling warmly at the four Hobbits that stood before them, looking up in awe at the man who had first come upon them as a Ranger in the wild, before each bowed low to the newly crowned King.

"My friends..." Aragorn smiled, stepping forward as they straightened to look at him, seeing the heartfelt look that graced his noble features; "You bow to no one."

With those words, the King of Gondor sank to one knee before the four Halflings of the Shire, with Théadain following suit. Around them, all who stood in the Court of the White Tree bowed in a humbling tribute to those who had faced so much to end the War of the Ring and save the free lands of Middle Earth.   
  
  


The celebrations in Minas Tirith lasted long into the night, and undoubtably would last for many days beyond. The Great Hall overflowed with those feasting, drinking, dancing and singing, the merriment spilling over into the courtyard outside and on into the city below. Already songs were being crafted, telling of the fall of Sauron, the great deeds of Halflings and the return of the King. Light and laughter filled every corner, great braziers burned along the length of the great stone keel, warming those who stood or sat around them on the wooden benches and tables that had spilled out of the hall. It was around one such fire that Théadain sat, stealing a quiet moment with her dear friends. Throughout the feasting and celebration of the day, each had been in high demand for tale-telling and discussion, but now one by one, each had managed to slip away as the revelry continued outside their circle of friendship and shared experience, their Fellowship of the Ring. As they spoke quietly amongst themselves, each recalling details of stories they had missed in the first telling, Théadain's eyes lifted to the figure of Aragorn striding towards them from the hall - the last to escape the heady celebration of his coronation. His ceremonial armour and crown had been laid aside in the early hours of the evening - as had the circlet that had adorned her own brow - but in the way he carried himself, he needed neither; none could mistake him for anything less than a King. She had rarely wandered from his side throughout the day, wary as he was of her over-tiring as she continued to heal, but as the night had drawn in, she had persuaded him to let her move away for a breath of air.

Now he settled beside her, a cup of wine clasped in his hand and smiling warmly at his companions, each nursing their choice of the ale or wine that had flowed freely throughout the day. It leant a certain rosy hue to the evening, though with the eyes of the city upon them, none had felt it wise to overindulge. Well, Legolas may have, Théadain mused - but who could tell?

"We have come a long way from Bree, gentlemen." Aragorn smiled as he addressed the Hobbits, grinning as they laughed at the shared memory of their first meeting, though the smiles were tinged with hint of sadness as they remembered who they had once been at the beginning of this journey. It was most noticeable in Frodo, Théadain thought, for how could he, or any of them remain unchanged by what had passed?

There was no going back to the people they had been before, for better or worse. The threads of an old life could not be gathered up once more and the same pattern continued. Each member of the Fellowship had begun their tapestry anew, that day they had set out from Rivendell.

Glancing around the fire at each of her companions, she could see how much they had changed; at Merry and Pippin, now carrying the titles of an Esquire of Rohan and Guard of the Citadel respectively; Legolas and Gimli, who had been so wary of each other upon their first meeting, yet now she thought she had never seen a firmer friendship; Gandalf, nursing his pipe in his palm and blowing smoke rings, in the same habit as when he had been cloaked in grey, now white; Frodo and Sam, who had endured so much for the sake of so many, now sitting quietly in their bond of shared trial that only they knew.

Lastly, she glanced to the man at her side, her husband the Ranger, turned King. Estel, Thorongil, Strider... Aragorn, now King Elessar. It was a dramatic change, yet so much of him remained the same; the quiet strength and nobility he carried, his impossibly caring and brave nature, the depth of his grey eyes and the warmth of his smile. The things she had fallen in love with - though she could quietly admit to herself that she _might_ come to miss the striking, rugged appearance of the Ranger that had made her slightly weak at the knees at first glance.

As she looked to him now, Aragorn raised his goblet in a silent toast to those around them. There had been plenty of speeches and toasts throughout the day, but no reason needed spoken for this one. As each member of the Fellowship raised their own drinking vessels in reply, they knew. It was for their shared journey, for what they had lost and what they had gained, for Boromir, for their love for one another and the understanding between them that no outsider could share. It was for the Fellowship of the Ring.

As their group slipped from quiet contemplation to easy discussion once more, Théadain shifted a little to rest her head upon Aragorn's shoulder, listening to Pippin's account of the battle that had raged within the walls of Minas Tirith, whilst the Rohirrim had fought on the fields beyond. After a short while, Aragorn's hand closed around hers, drawing her up from their seated position and slipping his arm around her waist. There would be more time for stories, she thought as he inclined his head to their friends with a gentle smile, before quietly leading her away from the fire they encircled.

Drawing Théadain close to his warm body, he gently supported her as they walked the short distance to the edge of the stone parapet, settling unconsciously in the very place she had agreed to wed him as they looked out over the city. The streets below still glowed with light, and song and laughter drifted up through the levels to reach the ears of the King and Queen - the occasional joyful cries of ' _Elessar!_ ' pulling a smile to Théadain's lips.

"Your people adore you." She whispered softly, wrapping her arms around his waist as she leaned into his hold. Her cheeks flushed a little as the sound of her own name being called as Aragorn chuckled softly.

"They adore you as well, it would seem." He whispered in her ear, pressing a loving kiss to her hair.

"People enjoy a love story." She smiled softly up at him as he held her a little tighter. "I am glad ours did not meet its ending, not yet."

"No, not yet." He murmured in reply, "There is still so much more to tell."

"Good, I should like a few more adventures by your side, my love."

Chuckling, he gently cupped her cheek in his large hand, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone; "I expect nothing less, Théa."

"Then I think our story may have a happy ending." She smiled playfully, running her hands up to his shoulders; "And they lived happily ever after, until the end of their days."

Aragorn could only smile down at his beloved, drawing her closer with the hand on her cheek as he bent to kiss her deeply. For the first time in his life, holding her tightly in his arms as they stood together, here high above the city of Minas Tirith with the free lands of Middle Earth stretching before them, he did not look to the path ahead with trepidation. From here on, their paths were irrevocably joined, never again would they have to face anything alone. She was his, and he was hers. Whatever came, they would face it together. A King and his Queen, a Ranger and his Marshall. Aragorn and Théadain, now and always, until the end of their days.

_And thus it was, the Fourth Age of Middle Earth began, and the Fellowship of the Ring, though eternally bound by friendship and love, was ended._   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there is our final chapter of 'Rain on the Mountain', I'll post the epilogue right away so read on for a little glimpse into life beyond the War of the Ring... X


	70. Chapter 70

_**Epilogue** _

  
A hand held slowly aloft commanded silence and stillness as the small company passed beneath the trees. It took only a moment for the soft footfalls to cease atop the fallen leaves that blanketed the earth, the sound of bowstrings being drawn back melting into the sounds of the forest.

Each eye was trained on the pale, ungloved hand of their leader, still cautiously raised as she sank to one knee at the edge of the wooded ravine, her other hand grasping the smooth, polished wood of her bow. In the Summer sunlight that filtered through the leaves of beech and ash, the silver ring upon her finger caught the light, only for a moment, before that hand reached to set an arrow to her bowstring. Her keen, tawny eyes had picked out a subtle movement in the ravine below, on the edge of a grassy clearing ringed with bushes.

The reports of a party of orcs moving through the woods of North Ithilien had been cause for concern, now over a year since the fall of Sauron. It had been assumed that all lingering servants of Mordor had been driven out of Gondor in those first few months of King Elessar's rule.

Still, it was not quite concerning enough for the hunt to _strictly_ require the personal attendance of the King or Queen; Faramir and his Rangers of Ithilien would have managed well enough – it was more so an opportunity to stretch their legs.

Dropping to one knee beside Théadain, Folhelm, now Captain of the Queensguard, squinted in the midmorning sun, trying to pick out what she had spotted amidst the trees, as his leader cast him a fond smile. In the year that had passed since the end of the War of the Ring, much had come to pass. The fallen King Théoden had been returned to rest beside his son in Rohan, shortly after the coronation. In that time, Éomer had been crowned King of the Riddermark and the Third Marshal of Rohan had officially handed over her rank to the only man she felt befitting of it – the now fully-healed Baldan.

The remaining members of the Fellowship of the Ring had ridden with them to Rohan, as the Hobbits had decided that they were at last ready to return to their homeland, and Legolas and Gimli had each promised the other a series of travels together. Though Théadain knew in her heart that they would meet again, it did not make the parting any less bitter. Indeed, she and her husband had accompanied them as far as the Gap of Rohan before they could bear to bid their farewells. Already they planned to visit the Shire, when the time came to venture West into the broken kingdom of Arnor.

Though when the rulers of Gondor had returned to their realm, they had not gone alone. Folhelm had gladly agreed to follow wherever his leader needed him, despite her teasing that his willingness had something to do with a young lady of Gondor who had made short work of capturing the attention of the man of Rohan. In addition to the lieutenant turned captain, Éowyn had followed them back to Gondor, hand in hand with Faramir, Steward of the realm and Prince of Ithilien. _That_ had been a wedding of particular magnificence, though upon witnessing what she might have had, Théadain was only more grateful for the quiet evening she had pledged herself to Aragorn, a year and handful of days ago.

They had been certain to mark that evening together, before they had separated with their companies in tow, to scour the expanse of woodland between the black mountains of Mordor and the Anduin river. Faramir had set out with his own Rangers also, though the Queen's company had yet to glimpse either the Steward's or the King's men amidst the trees.

Until now, it seemed.

A smile curved the Shieldmaiden's lips as her eyes settled upon what had caused the motion that first caught her eye. She might not have noticed the few green hoods passing through the thicket, had she not been surrounded by her own men cloaked in the same shade. It did however, take her a moment longer to pick out the taller figure, garbed in a slightly different cloak. Though he faced away from her, she did not need to see the elvish brooch that fastened the cloak to know where it had come from, or who wore it. It was the double of the cloak pulled around her own shoulders, one of only nine.

Biting her lip, she ran her thumb thoughtfully over the feather fletching of the arrow fitted to her bow, ignoring Folhelm's questioning look as she drew her bowstring back in a fluid, silent motion. Her cloaked shoulders rose with a soft inhale, before she released both her breath and the arrow, watching it sail to meet its mark in the bark of a tree beside the cloaked figure. Unable to conceal her grin, she watched the figure spin, a large hand landing on the hilt of his sword as he looked for the source of the arrow, a pair of sharp grey eyes meeting tawny as he looked up to the Southern edge of the ravine.

"Lead the men down, Folhelm." Théadain smiled as she rose to her feet, tugging her hood a little more firmly over her copper curls and slinging her bow over her shoulder, "The King's company is camped on the Northern side."

"As you wish." The fair-haired man chuckled, relaxing with the realisation that she had not set her sights on an orc; "Will you follow?"

"In time, it seems I might have some business with the King first." The young Queen grinned as she gave his shoulder a gentle push, watching as he led the small company that followed her away and hearing the tell-tale trilling call of the Rangers to the others deeper in the woods.

She took her time, padding softly through the woods as she followed the gentle downward slope of the ground that led to the foot of the ravine, making it halfway before the sound of a twig breaking somewhere ahead of her froze her steps. Smiling at the sound, she bounced on the balls of her feet for the briefest moment, before moving to dart behind a tree – a tiny gasp of surprise leaving her lips as a strong arm circled her throat and her back was pulled against a firm chest.

"You dropped something."

At the low purr in her ear, the point of the arrow she had shot was held inches from her cheek, making her roll her eyes with a fond smile.

"Forgive me, my King." She laughed, twisting in his loose hold to dance away a few teasing steps, her heart leaping as her husband cast back the hood of his cloak to smile down at her.

"You hardly sound repentant."

"Do I need to?"

At her teasing smile Aragorn laughed, opening his arms to his wife as she dashed the few paces between them, catching her waist and lifting her with ease as she cradled his face in her hands, just drinking in his appearance before she brought her lips to his.

Those few days apart had been too many, she thought as she kissed him eagerly, her legs wrapping around his waist to secure herself in his arms – and damn it all if he didn't look somehow more handsome after a few days in the wilderness.

Grinning against her lips, he lifted one hand to stroke her cheek; "I missed you."

"I missed you too." She breathed softly, running her fingers over his bearded jaw as he settled her safely on her feet once more. "No sign of our quarry?"

"Faramir found them first." He chuckled, reaching to affectionately tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, "We met his company last night."

"No trouble then?" Théadain hummed, leaning into his touch as her own hands lingered on his chest, reluctant to lose even a moment of contact after their days apart.

"None." He whispered reassuringly, curling his arms around her to draw her in to another long, tender kiss.

Smiling into his lips, Théadain slipped her own arms around his neck once more, holding herself as close as she could get; "Will we return to Henneth Annûn then?" She asked softly, laughing at the tickle of his beard on her throat as his lips trailed across her jaw.

"Later." Aragorn hummed in her ear, tightening his hold on her waist; "They won't miss the two of us for a few hours."

"The _three_ of us."

The words had tumbled from her smiling lips before she had a chance to fully consider them, but it was as good a moment as any to allude to the suspicion she had carried quietly for a number of weeks. The suspicion that was confirmed over the last few days by her complete inability to hold on to her breakfast as she travelled with her company.

At her words, her husband had pulled back to look at her, his grey eyes wide as he held her at arm's length, an array of emotion playing across his face. "Théa?" His soft breath of her name came with a tentative, joyful smile – as if he was frightened of letting himself jump to his conclusion too soon.

Though with her breath of delighted laughter and small nod of confirmation, she was tugged into his arms once more, lifted off her feet by the sheer force of his elation.

"Truly Théa?" He grinned up at her, his eyes alight in a way she had never seen before, though she was sure her own reflected the same emotion as her heart fluttered in her chest. Nodding, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he spun her with an elated laugh, the sound bouncing off the trees as it mingled with her own.

"Truly." She breathed with a giggle, clinging to his shoulders, "Though please don't spin me again- or I'll have another disagreement with my stomach this morning."

She was silenced by his loving kiss, clutching herself to him as he carefully set her on her feet, as if she had suddenly become delicate and breakable under his hands with the news that she carried his child. A year had been a long time to wait, and for most of it she had been terrified that she was somehow unable to do this, afraid that the injury she had sustained at the Black Gate had damaged more than they knew. She knew those thoughts had played on Aragorn's mind too, when he would run his fingers over her scarred hip in the nights they had lain side by side, trying to hide his expression of trepidation.

Yet it seemed now, it had at last come to pass; Théadain found as she looked up into his eyes, swimming with tears of unexpected joy, she was not afraid as she thought she might have been. That same sense of elation had fallen upon her, she was excited to see what was to come.

"Théa, I have no words..."

"Nor do I." She smiled breathlessly as she leaned into the hand cupping her cheek, "I did not think there was room in my heart for more love, yet I have found it."

Smiling lovingly down at her, Aragorn rested his forehead against Théadain's, holding her tightly as they stood beneath the trees, bathed in the midmorning sun.

Until the peace of the morning was broken by a long horn blast.

"Ah- Faramir." Théadain laughed softly as she recognised the sound, "He will be wanting to hurry back to Éowyn."

"Then it is time to depart, my love."

"Lead the way, my King." Théadain grinned as Aragorn took her hand in his, holding it tightly as they turned together to dash away beneath the trees of Ithillien, their feet set to the joined path before them.

**_The End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has followed Théadain's adventures, I hope you've enjoyed reading about them as much as I enjoyed writing them! Every comment and kudos has been so appreciated, I can't tell you how much it means to a writer to hear that someone likes their work!
> 
> I've already written a short prequel about Théadain's early years and her journey to becoming a Marshal, which I hope to post in the New Year, along with a few other bits and pieces linked to this story.
> 
> In the meantime, thank you again to all my readers, I hope you enjoy the festive season however you choose to spend it and hope you all arrive in 2021 safely!
> 
> X


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